


Foxhill Part I - The Wizard of Foxhill

by Blaumeise



Series: Foxhill [1]
Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M, Magic, Prostitution, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 94,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaumeise/pseuds/Blaumeise
Summary: Duff's latest professional occupation turns out to be a lot more trouble than it is worth. While searching for a new job, he stumbles across a strange, little shop in one of the less reputable alleys in town. “Help Wanted” the sign in the shop window reads.This is his first step into a world he knew existed, but, as a non-magical person, has never come into contact with. Little did he know that soon his previous troubles would follow him to his new working place and drag him deeper into the world of the supernatural than he had ever thought possible.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Slash | Saul Hudson, Duff McKagan/Izzy Stradlin
Series: Foxhill [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980472
Comments: 371
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

Duff pushed himself up onto his elbows to get a bit more tension into his back muscles. Councillor Montgomery had to be weighing far over two hundred pounds and didn’t get the concept that even Duff had to breathe now and then. He rounded his shoulders and tried to pull his knees under himself, but his legs were spread too far to get decent leverage. 

At least, they had to be nearing the end. The councillor had a lot more body weight than stamina and when Duff heard the first of those little gasps he always made before the grand finale, he braced himself for the impact. 

Councillor Montgomery came, collapsed and crushed Duff under his body. 

Duff, flat on his belly, nose buried in a load of pillows, turned his head from left to right to get at least one uninhibited lung full of air. 

“Sir?” he asked softly and wriggled around under the mountain of flesh. 

No reply. No movement. And now, that he thought about it, no hot, laboured puffs against his neck either. 

“Sir? Councillor?” 

Nothing. 

‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!’ Duff thought. ‘Dear God, please. Not again.’


	2. Help Wanted

For the first time since his arrival at Mrs Padget’s establishment, Duff graced the room called ‘the parlour’ with his presence. He perched on the most comfortable chair, he had ever occupied in his life, without being able to value this extraordinary luxury. Normally visitors would lounge on this piece of opulence while Mrs Padget explained the services her employees offered and the payments they entailed. Today it had to make do with a less honourable occupant. 

He curled his bare toes into the thick carpet and concentrated on the man in front of him. 

“So, you are Duff?” Constable Carter started while writing something into a little notebook. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Duff did his best to pay attention. Now and then his eyes darted towards one of the numerous pictures or little statuettes that filled every corner of the room, and each time the policeman reacted with a frown. A reminder that they were here on serious business. 

“Duff … and?”

In a futile attempt to cover his knees, he pulled at the hem of his dressing gown. For the third time in as many minutes. Everything was too short when one was one head taller than everybody else and the dressing gown Mrs Padget had tossed into his direction after he had called for help was no exemption. It belonged to Sammy if he recognized the pattern correctly. Little moons and stars embroidered on blue silk. A present from a favourite client. Sammy would want it back. 

“McKagan, sir.” Duff forced his attention back to the interrogation. “Michael.”

“What?” Constable Carter looked up from his notebook. 

“Michael McKagan, sir,” Duff repeated. “My name. That’s what you were asking, right?”

“Mrs Padget said your name was Duff.”

Constable Carter was in his forties, Duff guessed, with thinning hair and a bit of a pouch under his jacket. Not so different from a lot of their clients, but if the worn corners at his cuffs were any indication, he would never be able to pay the going rates at this house. 

“That’s what everybody calls me. But it’s not my real name. I doubt Mrs Padget knows that, so it’s not like she was lying.”

With a tired sigh, the constable scratched something out in his notebook and wrote something else in.

“I’ll call you Duff then,” he said. 

“Sure.” 

Duff pulled again at the hem, wishing he was clothed in a few more scraps of fabric than a too short dressing gown had to offer. Sammy was tiny! 

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one, sir. Since last February.”

Constable Carter jotted it down. 

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“Because Councillor Montgomery died.”

“Because this is not the first time the doctor was called to such an emergency at this … establishment.”

Duff nodded. It was nicely worded but didn’t change that he was in trouble. Big trouble. 

“You were the last person to see Councillor Montgomery alive, is that correct?” 

Duff nodded. “He was pretty alive. Until he wasn’t.”

“And he died … when exactly?” The pencil hovered over the paper in expectation. 

“When he came,” Duff said. “I mean, not when he came in. I mean … when he came.”

“Exactly at the moment when he … found release?” The pencil’s tip was thrust into the notebook to stress the importance of the question. 

Duff shrugged. “Could have been shortly after. I mean, I didn’t expect him to … you know … die. And I was on my belly and trying to not suffocate. Because he was pretty heavy. And there were so many pillows, and I was busy figuring out how to turn my head. I might have missed the exact moment. But I’d say, yes, when he … uhm … found release.” 

Constable Carter’s expression lost its severeness for a moment. 

“Details, please,” he said, tapping the pencil onto the open page. 

Duff scratched his head. “That was around eight. He arrived shortly after seven, and he never stays longer than an hour. Because of his wife, he says.”

“He was a regular client?”

“Yes.” Sadly, Duff wanted to add but swallowed it down. One should never speak evil of the dead. Councillor Montgomery hadn’t been a bad man, just a bit careless, sometimes. 

“When did you start working for Mrs Padget?” 

“Last summer,” Duff said. “August. I came to town in July, you know.”

“And where were you before?” 

“Home. In Ireland. Tuam, sir. Was quite the journey.” It had been an exciting trip, but he was sure that the constable was not interested in his travel experiences. “I had planned to go to London, but my savings were all used up when I reached Whittlingsfield. Anyway, I was looking for a job. Was not easy, but then I found one here at this house.”

Constable Carter had been scribbling away, but now the pencil made another pause.

“And you had no qualms to …,” 

“What? Oh no,” Duff hurried to say. “No, it wasn’t like that at all. I was a servant. Made fire in the rooms, took care of the yard, ran errands. Was all honest work, sir, really.”

“Then how did you end up …?” Constable Carter let pencil and notebook sink into his lap and now his attention was fully on him. 

Duff heaved a deep sigh. He would have preferred to talk about his trip to England. 

“That was last year. December. I had made a fire in all the bedrooms and was on my way down when Mr …,” he hesitated. “I’m not supposed to mention the names to anybody.”

“This is a police investigation.” Constable Carter gave him another stern look. “You are obligated to comply in all matters.”

Duff hoped this was true because if not, he’d be in trouble. “In that case. Mr Robinson, sir. He noticed me. And he went to Mrs Padget and requested me.”

“And you agreed?”

“No, of course not.” Duff pulled his mouth into a pout. “But it was December and Mrs Padget said, I could either do it or leave. Was pretty cold last year. Snow and all. Took me over a month to get this job and that was in July.” 

Constable Carter opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then he closed it again. At least he didn’t write all that down, Duff thought. 

“So that was your … introduction to … this kind of work?”

“Yes.” 

Duff gave up pulling at his dressing gown and pulled at his hair instead. It had always been longer than his Mum had liked, but now it was down to his shoulders. He looked at the blond strand in his hand before he wrapped it around his finger and tugged a little harder. The pain felt good, somehow. 

“Why didn’t you return to … making fires? Afterwards?”

Duff took a deep breath before he answered. His sudden popularity was not something he was proud of. 

“Because Mr Robinson had quite a few friends. Councillor Montgomery, for example. And he told them about me. And then they requested me, too.”

“Do you know Mr Robinson’s first name?” 

Constable Carter had started writing again. 

“I think it was Adam.”

The pencil dropped to the floor. The policeman stared at him for a moment before he picked it up. 

“Sir Adam Robinson? Who died the week after Easter?”

“Yes, it was the week after Easter,” Duff confirmed. “I still remember that because we all got a day off. To go to church. We get one day per month. The last Sunday it is. But Easter and Christmas we get extra, and I went to mass. I’m the only catholic here, so I was on my own.” 

He hadn’t stayed long, five minutes maybe, but whenever somebody asked whether he had gone to mass, he had been able to answer with an honest ‘yes’. 

“Mrs Padget said we had to work harder afterwards, and every day for the rest of the week I got a client more than usual. And one of them was Mr Robinson.”

Now Constable Carter openly stared at him. “He died here?”

“Yes,” Duff said. Wasn’t this why they were having this conversation? Because people kept dying on him? “He ...uhm ... passed away when … you know … when he … found release.”

With Mr Robinson, there hadn’t been a police investigation. At past sixty and with a strong liking for port wine, nobody had been surprised when his heart had given out. Inconvenient, sure, but things like that happened. Mrs Padget had taken care of the issue, and Duff had gotten the rest of the day off. 

“Then there was Mr Campbell,” he went on. “And that was weird because he was only forty, or something. He was a friend of Mr Robinson, too, you know. So, first Mr Robinson dies and then his friend. And in exactly the same way. Mr Montgomery was also a friend of Mr Robinson.”

Duff pulled at the dressing gown. It was strange, sure, but it was not his fault. At least he hoped it wasn’t. The police might think differently. 

“So … these three men, who all knew each other, all died within …,” he looked into his notes, “… three months? All while having … intercourse with you?”

Duff chewed at his lip. “Looks like it.”

Constable Carter closed his little book. 

“Kid,” he said and Duff sat up straight. “I implore you: do search for a different line of work.”

+++

The next Monday, neither Easter nor Christmas but the height of July, Duff found himself on the search for a new job. Mrs Padget’s worry about the decreasing number of well-to-do clients had forced her hand and left him with neither income nor a roof above his head. 

Being homeless and broke felt familiar. At least the new marketable skill he had not yet possessed when he had arrived at Whittlingsfield a year ago made sure he would not starve. Within a few days he had scouted out the localities and found … no, not a job… but at least some type of employment. 

Squinting against the last rays of sunshine, Duff sauntered down the steep, cobblestoned street, past pubs, shops and market stalls, through throngs of people and over heaps of horse dung, towards the port. Being outside whenever he wanted almost made up for the lack of security in his current life. He might think differently again come winter, but right now, in the middle of summer, it could be worse. 

He hadn’t yet reached the harbour, when he spotted something new over the rooftops and through the smoke out of countless chimneys. Two masts swayed softly before the red evening sky. 

Hurriedly Duff took the last corner, and there it was. A sailing ship, the crew still busy unloading cargo. Food for several days if he played his cards right. Come evening, the men would swarm out in search for alcohol and other delights. 

He waved as he passed and a few of the sailors returned his greetings. If he was lucky, they would remember him later. When he reached his destination, Dolores was waiting for him. She stood under the flapping sign of the Rose and Crown, her arms wrapped around her thin frame despite the warm summer air. 

“Hey, Lola.” Duff ran the last yards and skidded to a halt next to her. “Ship’s at the port.”

“I know. And I’m ready.” She straightened her blue dress in a mock version of a lady’s coquetry. “Any idea where they are coming from?”

“No.” 

Duff looked down into her mouselike face that peeked out from soft, brown curls. If he stretched out his arm, she would be able to walk under it without ducking her head. 

“Hopefully from far enough to not have caught the disease.”

“Yes, hopefully.” 

Duff wondered if Mrs Padget knew that she wasn’t the only one who was losing clients. The girls and boys of the harbour quarter were facing the same problem. Even the newspapers reported about a string of deceased dock workers, sailors and other low-class citizens. 

“No sense in worrying too much,” Lola said. “It’s not as if we have a choice, right?”

“No,” Duff replied. “But it’s still strange. I mean, it’s them who die. Usually, it’s us.”

“Can’t we be lucky for once?” she asked. “Maybe it affects only men.”

“That’s kind of reassuring, you know.” He kicked a pebble out of the way. 

Lola laughed. “You had it happen three times. You must be immune.”

Duff hoped so, too but he couldn’t fight the fear that this disease simply took a long time before it made itself known. With three dead clients, he was a lot more likely to have caught it than most. 

“Oh look!” She pointed down the street, where a two-wheeled hansom cab was rattling into their direction. 

Duff perked up, too. The crowd that usually frequented the Rose and Crown didn’t use cabs, but every now and then a more affluent client made his way down to the port to pick up entertainment. 

“Wanna bet? You or me?” 

“Or maybe Molly or Sara or Timmy.” 

“Naaah, it will be one of us.” Lola straightened her dress again. “Because we both look awesome tonight.”

Duff didn’t tell her, but he would prefer one of the sailors. Yes, sometimes he got away with charging a little extra, but most of them knew the going rates and refused to pay more. Wealthy clients reminded him of the incidents that had cost him his position, and while it was illogical, to him they seemed at greater risk of dying than the average dock worker. 

But he was out of luck and the cab came to a halt right in front of him. Duff caught a whiff of horse and leather while he stood up straight and smiled in an automatic reaction. 

“Kid,” the coachman said from his position at the back of the vehicle. “You free?”

The hackney snorted softly. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Get in then.” 

The man tapped onto the roof of the cabin. Duff opened the door and tried to make out a face in the fading daylight. For a second a pair of eyes seemed to glow red in the interior, but the image was gone in an instant. Duff shook his head. It must have been a reflection of the setting sun.

“I don’t have all evening, kid,” the man said.

Duff came to a decision and entered. He closed the door behind himself and the man rapped his cane against the wall. The horse moved forward in a well-paced trot. Due to the confined interior, he had no choice but to perch on the seat right next to the client. 

“What do you have to offer?” 

The man’s top hat almost touched the ceiling. His face was haggard, the corners of his mouth pointing downwards. The mocking undertone didn’t do much to reassure him, but Duff listed his services and prices without letting his unease show. He didn’t dare to charge above the usual. 

“In that case…” The client tossed a few coins into his direction. “Get on your knees.”

Duff shifted down and tried to get comfortable between the man’s legs. 

“Should I …,” he motioned towards the fly. 

“What do you think I pay you for?”

Duff got to work. The rattling of the carriage was hell on his knees and the lack of room made the job harder. But with practice came experience. By now he knew how to keep his teeth in check in the midst of all that jostling. 

Unlike Councillor Montgomery, this client possessed stamina. When Duff had finally earned his money, his cheeks were hurting as badly as his knees. Without commenting on the result, the man rapped his cane once more against the wall. 

“Out,” he said. 

Duff hopped down onto the street. The horse resumed its brisk trot and he turned around to find out where he had been dropped off. 

Rows of houses ducked low against each other, separated by a narrow stretch of cobblestone. Somebody was cooking dinner, the scent of mutton mixing with the stench from the gutters. 

And here he had believed that he was familiar with the run-down parts of Whittlingsfield. Duff looked out for somebody to ask for directions. It was after sundown, streetlights were rare in this quarter, and the only person he could make out was a woman too far away. 

‘When in doubt, walk downhill,’ Duff decided and marched on. 

Whittlingsfield crawled from the port up to the church high on the cliff, a labyrinth of streets and alleys that spread out from one single starting point like a spiderweb. If one headed into the opposite direction, the harbour, fenced in from both sides by the high bluffs, offered a natural destination. He should be able to find his way back. 

Duff strode past barred shops, dark windows and cluttered yards. A dog watched him lazily from under a handcart as he hurried by, but he had yet to come across a single person. 

All of a sudden, he spotted light behind a shop window. He stopped and tried to get a look into the interior. It was a small room. Shelves lined the walls from top to bottom for as far as he could see, stuffed full of boxes, jars and packages. A big, black cat lounged on the counter next to a stack of books, but Duff couldn’t make out the owner. 

He made a step back to look out for a shop sign and found it hanging scratched and askew above the door. 

“A. Rose’s Herbs and Spices.”

He was about to walk on, when he spotted another sign, small, handwritten on a piece of cardboard, in the corner of the display window. 

“Help Wanted.”

During the last week, Duff had knocked at dozens of doors with similar signs, but as a homeless Irish boy without any references, the rejection had always been imminent. Mr A. Rose’s expectations would hardly be less stringent, especially if the applicant disturbed him after hours. But Duff wasn’t sure he would find this shop again the next day, not if he kept straying through this labyrinth of unknown alleys in search of the port. He took a deep breath, knocked and turned the handle. 

Mr A. Rose hadn’t barred the shop yet. The door opened and Duff entered.


	3. Foxhill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I had to change the title

From the inside, the shop was even smaller than it had looked through the window. Duff sniffed curiously when a conglomerate of foreign scents assaulted his nostrils. A never encountered mixture of sweetness and spiciness, a bitter tang stirred in and rounded out by a sharpness that made his eyes water. 

“Hello?” he asked softly and approached the counter. 

The cat, a majestic, black entity against polished oak, sat up and watched him from amber coloured eyes. 

“You all alone here?” Duff asked. 

The cat didn’t reply, of course, but had no objections when he reached out to scratch it behind the ears. The former kingliness melted into a puddle of purring fur. 

“Good?” Duff asked and read the title of the book on top of the little stack that sat next to the animal. 

‘Common Use of Britain’s Most Poisonous Plants’

‘Common use?’ he thought. 

“Hands off the cat!”

Duff snatched his hand back. All he saw for a moment was green, then he realized that he was confronted with a long, slinky silk dress which covered a sharp faced, unhappy looking woman.

She was in her late twenties, he guessed, her skin pale, her eyes blue and focused. A smattering of freckles dusted her nose, and he liked that she hadn’t cared to hide them. Unlike any reputable shop assistant, she hadn’t put her hair up either. It flowed in a shiny, red cascade over her shoulders to her back. No, not a shop assistant, he decided when he spotted the amber necklace around her milky white neck and took in the finely made details of the dress. This had to be Mr Rose’s beautiful wife. 

Duff wished he had a hat he could take off. 

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “I was only petting him.”

“And that’s supposed to be a reason? Do you molest any cat you stumble across? We are closed. Come back tomorrow.”

He took a deep breath. “I saw the sign. The one in the window. That you need help, Ma’am. My name is Duff and I …”

The look the woman cast him was dark enough to make him falter. Several times his Irish accent had put an end to an interview before it had started, and in as many cases the advertisement had excluded Irish right away. 

“Don’t call me Ma’am,” she said. “I’m a man.” 

“I’m sorry … sir,” Duff stuttered. 

Some of the boys at Mrs Padget’s had worn dresses, a thing he had never heard of before, but this was not the case here. Definitely not. In front of him stood a woman, including all the attributes women normally possessed. He was sure of that. 

“Stop staring.”

“I’m sorry … sir. Anyway, I saw the sign and I thought …”

“Yes, yes, you thought you might want the job.” 

The woman stepped up to the counter and nudged the cat to the side. Duff expected it to jump down, but it was either a very laid-back cat or used to harsh treatment. It moved a few inches to the side and settled again, watching curiously.

“What are your qualifications?”

Duff hesitated, making a mental list of abilities he should and shouldn’t enumerate. 

“I can do pretty much anything,” he finally said. 

“Anything.” The woman looked unimpressed. “If I asked you to dance on a tightrope, could you do that?” 

“I mean, I could do anything like … clean and take care of the yard and sweep the chimney or stock the shelves or run errands or …”

“You would never fit into the chimney.” She wiped her hair back over her shoulder and raised her chin. “I get it. No qualifications. Look, I don’t think this is the right job for you.”

Duff’s heart sank. Of course, it wasn’t.

“This line of work is dangerous.”

The statement made him pause. Dangerous? What was dangerous in a spice shop? 

“You might get injured. Or even die. Stop staring, I said.”

“Sir?” he asked, not sure he had heard correctly. 

Die? Through what? The common use of Britain’s most poisonous plants? 

Perhaps Mr Rose had especially aggressive customers. Or the previous help had fallen off a ladder while stacking the shelves. And broken his neck. And now his wife was worried about any future servants experiencing the same fate. That he understood. Having people unexpectedly die on you was unsettling. 

In that case, Duff was a good fit. He was tall enough to reach most of the shelves without a ladder, and he had plenty experience fending off aggressive clients. 

He was about to let her know, when the door was torn open. Startled, Duff turned around. A gust of wind blew in yet another latecomer. The man angrily tossed his hat onto a chest of drawers, then he tore off his coat and had it follow. 

“Who’s that?” he asked, shaking wet, dark hair out of his face. When had it started to rain? “I thought we were closed.”

“That’s Duff,” the woman said. “He’s here for the job.”

“Ah.” Water dripped off the man’s clothes and formed a small puddle at his feet. “Does he have any qualifications?”

“None.” The woman pulled a face. “Just as green as all the others who called.” 

“Oh. Pity.” 

He turned on his heel and strode towards a door at the far end. The cat jumped off the counter and, tail high, followed while daintily avoiding the wet footprints. 

“One shilling per week,” he said without looking back. “Food and lodging. You can start by cleaning my coat.”

“Yes sir!” Duff exclaimed. “Thank you, sir! You won’t regret it, sir!”

“What?” The woman called after him. “Why? I just told you…”

“He’s interesting.” The man was half out of the room and didn’t care to stop. “He was touched by death.”

The door fell close with a shut. 

‘How does he know?’ Duff wanted to ask, but bit his tongue. Some topics were better not touched when one was starting a new position. 

“Doesn’t that mean we should rather avoid him?” the woman yelled. “Oh, shit!” 

“Was that Mr Rose?” Duff asked, still staring at the closed door. 

The woman narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead. 

“I am Mr Rose. That… was Izzy.”

+++

Duff did his best to collect his bearings, but it took him longer than he liked to admit. 

“All right.” Mr Rose locked the door and picked up an oil lamp. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Duff hesitated. He and Lola always made sure to check in with each other at the end of a working day. She would be worried. 

“When I’ve cleaned the coat, may I go home for the night? I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, promise. Before sunrise.”

Mr Rose fixed him with another glare. He … she … no, he, Duff decided, wasn’t any happier about the new employee than before. 

“Where do you live?”

“Near the port.” He didn’t have a fixed address, but most of the time he found a sleeping place somewhere at the docks. 

“You want to walk all the way to the port?” Mr Rose asked. “At night?” 

“Yes?” It came out like a question. “I’m always out at night.”

“No, you’re not. Not in Foxhill,” he said. “You can go and fetch your things tomorrow.”

Duff gave in. One did not argue with one’s …mistress? Master? This was getting confusing. He picked up the coat and followed Mr Rose. Foxhill, he thought. He had heard that name before, but couldn’t remember where. 

“Is it really that dangerous?” he asked while they headed for the door his new employer, Mr Izzy, had vanished through. 

“For you? Yes.” 

He was offended. He was young, sure, but he could take care of himself. Mr Rose opened the door and Duff caught a glimpse on a small brass sign that was nailed to the wood. 

‘Izzy Stradlin’ he read. So, it was Mr Stradlin, not Mr Izzy. There was something long written below the name, but they had passed before he was able to decipher it. 

Duff wrangled shorter words well enough but needed some time for anything extensive. They followed a corridor under the sparse light from the oil lamp, then up a staircase to the first floor. Three doors went off a tiny landing and right above them, a rope hung from the ceiling. Mr Rose tore violently at the knotted end. A trapdoor opened and revealed a ladder that could be pulled down. They climbed up. 

“Careful with your head,” Mr Rose said just when Duff straightened and banged against the ceiling. 

He stooped and rubbed a hand over the bruise. 

“There should be a lamp somewhere.” 

They found and lit it. The room lay completely under the pitch of the roof and if Duff wanted to stand straight, he almost had to flatten himself against the wall. He still loved it at an instant. Yes, it was tiny, consisted of nothing but a bed, a bare mattress, and a chest of drawers. Yes, it would be stifling hot in summer and freezing cold during winter. But it was dry and sheltered, a place to stay, where he could leave his belongings, should he ever possess any, and lay down his head without the constant fear of being mugged. 

“I suppose you need a blanket.” Mr Rose sounded as if it was a major ordeal. “Come on, there might be one in the linen cupboard.”

They climbed down again and found not only a blanket but also sheets and a pillow. 

“Outhouse through the backdoor. Don’t linger, not even in the yard.”

Duff thought that was exaggerated, but considered it wiser to follow orders for now. There was no sense in bringing his new masters up against himself on the first day. 

“Where can I clean the coat?” He held up the soiled garment.

“Kitchen. I’ll show you. If you’re lucky, there’s still water. If not, leave it until tomorrow. Pump is down the street, but if I were you, I wouldn’t go there at night just to clean Izzy’s dirty clothes.”

Duff thought differently. If Mr Stradlin told him to clean the coat, he would expect it to happen. But he doubted that he would get a key to the door because he wanted to search for the pump at night. 

The kitchen was downstairs and equipped with everything he required to clean the coat, including sufficient water supplies. 

“You get along?” Mr Rose asked. 

“Yes, thank you.” Duff tried a smile but didn’t get one in return. 

“Good night. And hands off the cat.”

With those parting words, Duff was left alone. He put the oil lamp onto the counter and had a closer look. This would be his workplace and it was good to familiarize himself right away. From the interior, the kitchen had several functions. A table, surrounded by benches and headed by a single chair, stood in the middle of the room. Below a black pipe, there was a huge cookstove that would accommodate several pots. Kitchen utensils were neatly lined up on shelves and boards. A narrow door led to what Duff assumed had to be the pantry. He didn’t dare look, afraid he might be accused of stealing food if he was caught. 

He found a washtub in the corner, and next to it a conglomerate of rags, brushes and also soap. A washboard was hidden behind spades, shovels and even a pickaxe, all dirt encrusted and in need of a good cleaning. 

Time to get to work. He spread out the coat on the table and looked at the damage. Being wet was the least of its problems. The black wool was muddy and slimy and smelled like a mixture of seaweed and something rancid he was unable to determine. What had Mr Stradlin done? Taken a bath in the ocean? Near the sewer outlet? Fully clothed? 

Cleaning the coat took the better part of an hour, but finally Duff was content. He hung it over the back of the chair and was ready to go to bed when he remembered the hat. He could as well start by leaving a good impression and at least brush it off. 

He found his way back into the shop room and picked it up. The cat lay on the counter again, watching with the same calm curiosity as before. 

“I would pet you, but I’m not allowed.” 

Duff smiled, and for a moment he thought the cat was smiling back. It was definitely more approachable than its owners. 

Tired and eager to be done with his work, he started for the kitchen again, when he spotted the sign. 

‘Izzy Stradlin’ he read. And then: ‘Magical Investigations.’

Duff dropped the hat. 

‘Foxhill,’ Mr Rose had said. Foxhill, the place where only supernatural creatures lived. The only place in Whittlingsfield where they were allowed to live. The place that he had been warned to avoid at all costs. 

Duff’s breath came faster. His first impulse was to run, but where to? Mr Rose was right. If this was Foxhill, then strolling around in the dark was not a good idea. 

‘Calm down!’ he told himself. 

Yes, he knew supernatural creatures were descendants of the devil himself, but he doubted that Mr Rose and Mr Stradlin were out to harm him. Spawns of hell or not, they had given him a job, had offered him a place to sleep when nobody else would. If they planned to hurt him, they could have done that any time since he had blithely walked into the shop. They may both go to hell one day, but to him they had been kind. And he was repaying their kindness with unfounded suspicion. 

Ungratefulness was as sin, too, and while he was not as averse to several types of sins as he should be, this was one he didn’t like. 

Duff picked up the brought-brimmed, low-crowned felt hat, and carried it into the kitchen. He brushed it off, removed as many stains as possible, and put it carefully onto the table. Then he took the oil lamp and went to bed.


	4. Mr Stradlin

A week of disquiet nights had taken its toll, and as a consequence, being surrounded by magical creatures hadn’t left enough of an impression to keep Duff from a deep and dreamless sleep. At least not after he had pushed the chest of drawers over the trapdoor. 

Well rested, he woke when a ray of sunshine tickled his face through the skylight. He stretched lazily, reluctant to fully come awake yet. A dog barked outside, shrill and hysteric, and all of a sudden, he remembered where he was. Foxhill. He struggled to sit up, got tangled in the sheets, and hit his head at the ceiling. Wincing he rubbed the hurting spot right above his forehead, then felt for yesterday’s lump somewhere at the top. If he didn’t adapt to the low roof fast, his scalp would soon be as bumpy as the cobblestoned streets of Whittlingsfield.

Head bowed, Duff got to his feet. A look out of the window revealed the sun worryingly high in the sky. He had overslept. Not that anybody had given him information about when he was supposed to start work, but usually servants were well acquainted with the dawn of the day. And the dusk. And any hour in between. The long nights of his latest profession had destroyed the habit of rising and shining with the sun. Couldn’t be helped now, but it shouldn’t be a big deal to reset his inner clock. 

Duff scrambled into his clothes and wondered where to go. Kitchen, he decided. The kitchen would be a good start. He had yet to encounter a kitchen that wasn’t busy in the morning, and he would surely find a way to make himself useful. 

The smell of cooking breakfast greeted him as soon as he opened the trapdoor, and lured him down the staircase and through the corridor. He sniffed like a hunting dog on a fresh deer track, and suddenly his stomach rumbled loud enough to rival the black cat’s purring. Food had been a bit scarce after he had left Mrs Padget, and while his final client had paid, there hadn’t yet been an opportunity to fill his belly. 

He opened the door to the kitchen and the scent of eggs frying in bacon fat overwhelmed him like a divine manifestation. 

A girl stood at the stove, fifteen or sixteen maybe, blond hair piled up on the top of her head and wielding a spoon over a pot of porridge. The sight was oddly comforting. Supernatural creatures or not, they had eggs and oats for breakfast, not freshly cooked eyeballs or whatever assumptions he had whispered back and forth with his countless siblings. 

The girl didn’t seem as comforted by his entry. She eyed him nervously before her gaze flickered over to the second person. At first, Duff thought it was Mr Rose, obscured by the teapot and a newspaper he now let sink to the table, but he had been mistaken. The man who had been hiding behind it was endowed with the same red hair, blue eyes and smattering of freckles, but this time they adorned a handsome, definitely male face. 

His clothes, too, rivaled Mr Rose’s in their finery. An embroidered waistcoat over a ruffled silk shirt, a powder blue necktie peeking out of the collar. A sibling, Duff concluded. Or even a twin. 

“Good morning,” he brought out, standing around like a clod and feeling like one, too. 

“Kate?” the second Mr Rose prompted. 

“Yes.” 

The girl straightened in an attempt to reach her full, not very impressive size. She brushed her hands over the skirts of her simple dress, bringing it in order before she looked firmly at … his chin, Duff assumed. 

“I’m Kate and I’m … I’m responsible for the household here and I’m …” 

She cast another helpless look at the second Mr Rose, but he was engrossed in the newspaper again. 

“I’m …,” 

Duff waited. 

“My superior?” he finished for her. 

“Yes!” she said. “Yes, that’s … what I am and … and …“

Duff took mercy on her. “Anything you’ve got to do for me?” 

“Maybe you could … set the table, please? If it’s not too much trouble?” 

The question was accompanied by a pleading look to not make her appear bad in front of her employer. 

“No trouble at all, Miss.”

Duff got to work. 

“How many persons?” he asked when he took plates off a shelf. 

“Oh,” Kate said. “Yes, that would be you, Slash, Izzy and Axl. That would be four.”

Duff was surprised that she addressed everybody by first name, but maybe she was a relative. 

“What about you?” If he was supposed to eat with his masters, why wasn’t she?

Kate violently tossed the eggs around in the frying pan until the sizzling almost drowned out her words. 

“I’ve already had breakfast,” she said. “I ate … before everybody else.”

It was a perfectly reasonable answer, but Duff suddenly felt uncomfortable. It lay on his tongue to ask what exactly she had eaten before everybody else, but didn’t, of course. He laid out plates and cutlery, making an effort to place them the way he had seen at Mrs Padget’s, everything orderly and parallel instead of haphazardly all over the table as they had done at home. 

He had almost finished, when another man entered. 

“Morning.” He yawned while rubbing a hand through a sheer unbelievable amount of black curls. 

Duff wondered if this was another servant. His dress was a lot less immaculate than what he had seen from the two Mr Roses. Scuffed leather pants, topped by a crumpled white shirt, open halfway down his chest and exposing far more smooth, tanned skin than would be considered decent in the company of a young girl. 

“Good morning, sir,” Duff stuttered, holding up the last spoon like a drum major would his mace. 

“Slept well?” the man smirked at him, clearly informed about the new servant. 

“Yes, thank you. I hope you did, too, sir.”

Who was this? He wished somebody would bother to explain the running of the household, including its inhabitants, to him. 

The second Mr Rose snorted. “Slash always does. Sleeping is his forte.”

“Don’t be jealous, Axl.” The man sat down at the table and pulled the teapot towards himself. “Just call me Slash. No sir needed.”

So, he was another servant? Duff didn’t dare ask, afraid of being insulting in case he was assuming wrong. 

Kate handed him a mug with a softly whispered “good morning” and he thanked her with a small smile. 

Duff put the last spoon in its proper place, and gave the setup of well executed table manners a final, critical glance. 

Slash loudly slurped his tea. 

“Izzy already up?” Axl asked. 

“Yep. And still reeking like each-uisge-slime. I made him promise to wash before gracing us with his presence.”

Kate pointed at the pot of porridge and Duff took it as his clue to stir while she cut slices off a loaf of bread. 

“Each-uisge,” Axl said, his voice dripping with displeasure. “What’s an each-uisge doing this far south? Shouldn’t it be in Scotland?” 

“Right now? Being a puddle of jelly at the beach. And on Izzy’s clothes.”

“Elsie can take them to my Mum for washing later,” Kate said. “She wanted to come over.”

“Good idea.” Slash pulled a sheet of the newspaper to himself. “Anything interesting?”

“Just lots of warning about the Irish disease.”

Duff clutched the spoon more firmly and scratched browning porridge from the bottom of the pot. The public had been quick to blame Irish whores for the sudden demise of their sons, brothers and husbands, ignoring that most of them hadn’t worked the trade before coming to England. 

When Kate pulled the cast iron pan off the stove, Duff carried his pot over to the table, too. 

“Sit and help yourself,” Slash said. “No idea what Izzy’s got planned for the day, but it’s likely you won’t want to do it on an empty stomach.”

Duff did as told, while Kate returned to the counter where she mixed flour and water. 

They had just started to eat, when Mr Stradlin entered. His hair was wetter than it had been the evening before, but his clothes, practical and unassuming, were dry and clean. He didn’t wear a necktie, just a plain, collarless linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons open, while dark workmen’s pants with scuffed knees were kept up by suspenders. 

“Izzy.” Axl acknowledged his entry. “Slept well?”

“Whatever.” 

Mr Stradlin didn’t seem to be a morning person. He slumped onto a free spot and with slow, dragging movements helped himself to the porridge. Then, elbows on the table, head propped up on one hand, he spooned food into his mouth, chewing with as much enthusiasm as a ruminating goat. 

Duff stood up and fetched another set of plate and cutlery.

“What’s that for?” Slash asked. 

“I thought…,” Duff put the plate down. “There’s one missing, right?”

Izzy slowed down his chewing until his jaws almost stopped moving. “Whom are you expecting? The Queen?”

“Won’t Mr Rose have breakfast?” Duff asked. 

Izzy’s spoon moved into the direction of the second Mr Rose. 

“I mean… the other … Mr Rose.”

“Axl is just male today, that’s all,” Slash said. “And you can call him Axl. All this sir and Mr is making me nervous.”

“Just …”

“I’m always male.” Axl’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

“Yes, but sometimes your body doesn’t follow suit, does it?” 

The look from narrowed eyes turned into a full glare. “Still better than being a cat.”

“At least I can decide what I want to be when. Unlike somebody else here, huh?”

Duff sat down. Foxhill, he reminded himself. He was in Foxhill. And people were sometimes male and sometimes female and other times they were cats. When they weren’t eating weird things for breakfast. It was all normal for them, he assumed. 

Then it registered what exactly had been said. Embarrassment pooled in a puddle of heat in his stomach, crept up from there to his brain, set it on fire, and spread in what he was sure had to be a flood of crimson all over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just … I suppose I really shouldn’t have petted you. Yesterday.”

“Nah, that’s fine,” Slash said. “When I’m a cat, I like the same things a cat does.”

At least he was gracious about it. 

“Like mice,” Axl said. 

“What’s wrong with mice?” Now Slash was glaring. “They are delicious.”

“Then why don’t you eat them when you’re in human form?”

“Because then … they are disgusting.” he wrinkled his nose. 

“Speaking of mice. You can take care of the chicken coop,” Izzy said through a full mouth. His eating had finally sped up. “I think I saw a rat.”

“Maybe later.” Slash reached for the eggs. “Don’t feel like shifting at the moment.”

“Are you a shapeshifter?” Duff asked, not sure if he should be scared or excited. 

“Obviously,” Axl said. “And it’s impolite to ask people about their denomination.”

“I’m sorry.” Duff cast another embarrassed look into Slash’s direction. Putting in his foot was sadly one of his specialties. Came from this admirable ability to shut off his brain before opening his mouth. “I didn’t mean to …”

“Don’t fret.” 

Izzy put his spoon down and folded his hands under his chin. For the first time Duff really looked at him. Yesterday, when he had stormed into the shop like an apparition out of another world, he had been too busy collecting his jaw off the floor to give him the appreciation he deserved. He was about as old as Axl, but far less striking, a bit on the skinny side, with bony shoulders and long fingered hands. His skin was a touch too pale, the eyes a shade lighter than his hair, intelligent and observant, and watching from under droopy lids. 

“But it’s right,” he said. “Don’t run around asking people what they are. Might gain you a hit rather than an answer. Apart from that, as you’re going to live here, you will want to know what you’re dealing with. Shapeshifter,” he pointed at Slash, “I’m a wizard, Axl, too, or a witch, depending on the day… and Kate over there is a werewolf.”

Kate slammed the bread dough onto the counter, boxed it down with her fist, then repeated the process a few times before tossing it back into the bowl with more violence than was necessary. 

“Now, to be even, how about you tell us a bit about yourself?” Izzy went on. “For example, why were you running around Foxhill in the middle of the night?”

Wizards, witches, werewolves. Maybe he should look for different employment. Yes, he thought, good luck with that. 

Duff took a deep breath. 

“I’m from Ireland,” he said. “And I want to go to America. My brother is already there, you know? He’s working on a ranch. As a cowboy. He can get me a job, too. But first, I need money for the passage, so I thought, I’d go to London and earn it. But I only made it to Whittlingsfield. And now I’m here. And then I saw the sign and asked for the job.”

“Slash is from America,” Axl said. 

“Really?” Duff turned his head in excitement. Personally, he only knew people who had sailed over the ocean, nobody who had returned. 

“New York,” Slash said. “Born and bred.”

“Then why are you here?” 

Duff bit his tongue, wondering if he was being impolite again. But who would move to Whittlingsfield if they could live in New York?

“Stupid bet,” Slash replied, not minding the question. “My little brother dared me to sneak onto a schooner. I did. In cat form. And got locked into a storage room. I had this brilliant plan to wait until they would open again, squeeze through and run fast enough to not get caught. Didn’t happen before the ship took off. “

“Oh no,” Duff exclaimed. “That’s … How did you survive?”

Slash smiled wryly. “Mice. I became the ship’s cat. And found out I liked travelling so … I stayed the ship’s cat. For a while. Not only on this ship, but I hopped vessels now and then. Been to the Indies and China. Around the cape. Twice.”

A world travelling shapeshifter. Duff was duly impressed. 

“Why aren’t you anymore?” he asked. 

“Two years ago, in January, I jumped ship in Whittlingsfield. I met this nice calico girl. Beautiful fur that one had,” he smiled fondly. “We had a good time. We said goodbye. I was on my way back to the port in search of another ride. Reveling in the afterglow. Dreaming of a warmer climate. And got hit by a carriage. Broke a leg. Hunting with a broken leg was unsuccessful. I ended here.”

“He was sitting in the kitchen one morning,” Axl said. “As a dirty, mangy, limping cat.”

“I was never mangy,” Slash said. “Just a bit starved and you had milk standing around.”

Axl huffed. 

“Come on, man.” Slash offered him a gentle smile. “You did an amazing job, nursing me back to health.”

Axl snorted. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known what you were, you bastard.”

Slash laughed openly. He turned to Duff. “Which is why I decided it was safer to stay a cat. Didn’t feel like being tossed out.”

“You slept in my room!” Axl yelled as if an old wound had broken open. 

“Not only in your room, if I remember correctly,” Izzy said 

He reached for the newspaper, seeming disinterested in the argument. He rather looked as if he had heard it a dozen times before and wouldn’t allow it to ruin his morning. 

“No! But you…” Axl stabbed his spoon into Izzy’s direction. “…knew it and didn’t tell me.”

Izzy snorted. “Watching you two was too much fun.”

Axl sat back in a huff, but then, when Duff wondered if they would now all be mad and attack each other with spells and other unholy forms of witchery, he started to chuckle. 

“You’re more cat than human anyway,” he said, a smile softening his sharp features. 

“That I can’t deny.” 

Now they were both smiling from one end of the table to the other. They definitely had had this argument a dozen times before. 

Izzy cleared his throat. 

“Yes, now that we have established … uhm … that … who is going to come digging tonight?”

His gaze travelled from Axl to Slash who both had stopped smiling. 

Slash shuddered as if somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

“I think I’ll look after the rat,” he said. “It might get into the eggs. Or even bite a chicken.”

Axl lifted his chin. “I don’t know what I’ll be this evening. I slept very badly last night. I might take a nap later. And then … who knows? Digging in a dress is no fun.”

Izzy turned his eyes heavenwards. “You can wear trousers even while being female.”

“I’m always male!” Axl said, as if that wasn’t rendering his line of argumentation moot. 

“I can help you, sir.” 

Duff didn’t know what they would be digging for, but if they had chickens, they might also have a vegetable patch in the backyard.

Izzy looked at him as if he had forgotten that he existed. Duff wasn’t sure what type of work he had been hired to do, but digging sounded reasonable. It definitely didn’t justify so much skepticism. 

“No, you can’t.” Axl had resumed eating.

“Why not?” Izzy rubbed his chin. “Yes, all right, you can come.”

“Izzy!” Axl slammed his spoon into the porridge. 

“Might be a good first job.” Izzy stood up, the discussion clearly over. “Be ready at dawn. We have a bit of a way ahead of us.”

He left the room, taking the newspaper with him. 

No vegetable patch in the backyard, then. 

“What am I going to dig up?”

Duff wished he had for once not volunteered to jump into the dark hole without at least pointing a torch at it first. 

“Graves.” Slash polished off the rest of his eggs and stood up. Axl followed suit and Kate collected the plates. “It’s always graves.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t too bad. “Is Mr Stradlin working as a gravedigger?”

“More as a graverobber,” Slash said. “And, Duff?”

“Yes?”

“Call him Izzy.”


	5. The Irish Disease

After breakfast, Duff was allowed to go and take care of his personal affairs. Again, he wasn’t given a time frame within which he would have to be back, but decided it would be best not to linger. Axl gave him a description of the route he should take to the port. Then he delivered a ten-minute-long lecture to stick to the main streets without specifying what he thought might happen if Duff failed to heed his warnings. Would he be eaten by a werewolf? Sucked dry by a vampire? Used as sacrifice in an unholy ritual? 

Duff’s experiences with the supernatural consisted of Father O’Brian’s preaching about fire and brimstone, the chilling stories he had exchanged with his peers and siblings, and of harassing Mr Byrne. The hunchbacked old man lived in a tiny cottage, one step up from a shed, really, outside town. 

Generations of children had made it their favourite pastime to throw pebbles at his door, peek through the single window, and run away screaming when he happened to leave the house. Mr Byrne’s rare trips into town included a stop at the butcher for an insane amount of pig’s blood. Maybe he liked blood pudding, but Duff and his friends had preferred a far more chilling explanation.

As he now strolled down Stakesby Road, according to Axl the direct route to the port, he hoped his childhood capers were not written all over his face. Despite the warnings he didn’t hurry, but took curious peeks into backstreets and alleys that forked off the main road every few yards. Here the houses huddled even closer, as if preparing for a long, cold winter. Sometimes two people could have shaken hands across the walkway by reaching out of their bedroom windows.

Yards, if available at all, were tiny. They housed chickens, sometimes a pig and often enough a grim dog as guard. At least Duff thought they were dogs. As he had learned, one should never assume in Foxhill. 

He wished he had the time to move deeper into the hidden labyrinth. What looked like curtains of drying clothes to him, might as well be a disguised veil between this world and the faery realm. 

Sadly, this adventure had to wait for another day. He feared to get lost and return late. Or be eaten by some type of creature, if Axl’s lectures were justified. 

Compared to the hidden system of passageways, Stakesby Road, looked like any other of the poorer quarters in any town he had ever seen. 

It was busy this morning, shop bells jingled, people chatted in front of street vendor stalls, and carters yelled at children who played in the middle of the road. The smell of cooking, cheap food like mutton and cabbage, was as present as it had been in Tuam. 

A sudden bout of homesickness hit unexpectedly, when he spotted the pump and the flock of children around it. Not so long ago this would have been him, getting into water fights with the other kids, laughing and dawdling and expecting a good scolding for being late. As the youngest he had never outgrown the duty of carrying water. 

Duff shook off the feeling like a dog would shake raindrops out of his fur and walked on. Curiously he looked into shop windows and now he did make out the difference between Foxhill and other places he had visited. Most of them were ordinary merchants that sold clothes, hardware, or groceries, but every now and then there was something special. 

One tiny shop had specialized in crystals and Duff took a moment to admire the rainbow of colours they formed in their velvet covered display cases. Another one promised ‘culinary specialties’ without going into detail and a third one offered clothes that had weird attachments or holes in unusual places. 

But while there may be people who required a third pantleg, Duff still had to meet them. Men, women, children, dogs, cats, horses, nothing looked out of the ordinary. 

He reached the more familiar parts of Whittlingsfield and searched for Lola. He knew that she slept with five other girls in a cellar room on Crescent Close, but when he knocked, she wasn’t at home. The port was his next destination, then the back alleys around the Rose and Crown, but nothing. Duff was about to give up, when he spotted a lonely figure at the beach. A woman in a blue dress, hair put up and shoes in her hand. 

He called out, but she didn’t hear him. He sprinted across the sand towards the waterfront. 

“Hey!” he said, raising his voice over the surf and the screaming seagulls. 

Duff wiped hair with both hands out of his face while the wind did its best to blow it right back in. 

“Duff!” She hugged him briefly, pressing her tiny frame against his chest. Her boots, tied together by their laces, knocked onto his back. “Where were you? Nobody has seen you return.”

“That’s because I didn’t.”

She looked him critically up and down. 

“But you’re all right?”

“Obviously,” he grinned. “Found a job. A real one.”

“A … the gentleman?” Her face lit up. A few wisps of hair had come loose and stuck to her cheeks. “He offered you a job?”

“No, he was an asshole.” 

Duff made a jump inland when a wave ran over the sand and almost drenched his shoes. Lola stood rooted in spot, letting the water pool around her naked feet. 

“Tossed me out … miles from here.” 

He avoided the name of his new home, knowing very well what she would say if he told her. And the worst was, she would be right. 

“But you know how it goes, Irish and luck and all that. There was a shop and it was still open and now I’ve got a job. And a place to sleep and I got breakfast, too.”

“That’s fantastic.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Duff asked. This wasn’t the Lola he knew, perky and lively in the worst of situations.

“Molly is dead,” she said. “She was found behind the pub this morning.”

Duff tried to remember Molly. He had been the newest addition to the group of kids at the Rose and Crown, and it took him a moment until her face formed before his inner eye. 

“What happened?” he asked. “Somebody …”

“No. She was just dead.” Lola directed her gaze over the ocean, the crashing waves, the flocks of seagulls and the fleet of fishing boats at the horizon. “Just like … them.”

“You mean …,” Duff didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The Irish disease. 

Lola nodded. “First one of us, it seems.” 

Abruptly she turned to look up at him, and forced her lips up into another smile. 

“So. Your job. I want to know everything.” Together they walked along the waterfront towards the rocky patch next to the bluff. “What kind of job, is the pay decent, and where exactly is it?”

Duff talked, as much to answer her questions as to distract her from the latest tragedy. She listened attentively, until he mentioned his new address. 

“Stakesby Road?” She stopped in the middle of her step, and grabbed him by his arm. “Stakesby Road in Foxhill?”

“You know it?” Duff asked, avoiding a reply. 

“Of course, I know it. Everybody knows it.”

“I didn’t. Been there for the first time ever yesterday. When I was tossed out of the cab. But he paid, so I assume he had the right to toss me out.”

“Not in Foxhill!” Lola grabbed his second arm, too. “Duff, you can’t take a job in Foxhill. What are these people even doing, living in Foxhill?”

Duff bit his lip. “They might have to live there.” 

Supernatural creatures were not allowed to take residence anywhere else. 

“They … no.” Her eyes rounded and her mouth stood slightly open. “Good thing you’re here now because you’re not going back.”

“They are very nice people,” Duff said. 

“Yes, until they kill you.” She shook him lightly. “Don’t be stupid.”

“They just …” … shift into other forms now and then. He swallowed his words. If it was rude to ask after a person’s denomination, pointing it out to strangers might be impolite, too. 

Duff wanted to argue, but knew if their roles were reversed, he would berate her in exactly the same way. 

“They won’t kill me,” he said softly. At least he hoped they wouldn’t. “Why let me go at all, if they have sinister motives?” 

Lola sighed. She looked tired, definitely too tired to get into an argument she wouldn’t win. Getting a real job was too much of a chance to let it slip, even if it was with unsavoury people. She knew that just as well as he did. 

“With the Irish disease spreading I shouldn’t be talking about dangerous occupations, I suppose.”

Duff wanted to say something to cheer her up, but found no words. 

They exchanged their goodbyes soon. Duff didn’t want to stay out longer than he had to, but promised to visit whenever he was allowed. Which might not be often, as both of them knew. Being a servant and having days off seemed to not go together well in the eye of most employers. 

It was later than he had planned, when he hurried up the steep road back to Foxhill. He hadn’t made it halfway, when he had to slow down because he was getting out of breath. His thighs were hurting, too, he noticed. He looked up the long stretch that still lay ahead. This wasn’t his first time clambering all over the hills of Whittlingsfield, but never had it worn him out like this. 

He squinted into the sun, when all of a sudden, his vision blurred and his knees wobbled. Duff pushed his hands against his thighs and bent forward, gulping in air that refused to reach his lungs. Blood rushed in his ears and for a moment, he thought he would faint. Then he caught himself and, still bowed over, fought to even out his breathing. 

“Typical,” he heard a voice in passing. “Drunk before noon.”

“That’s the Irish for you,” another voice replied, followed by laughter. 

Irish. Duff straightened. Irish disease. 

‘Dear God, please, no,’ he thought. Not now, not when he had found a job and a place to live and was paid enough to start saving for the passage to America. If his employers realized that he was not only sick, but contagious, and worse, infested by a whore’s plague, he would be back at the port faster than he could count to ten. And then it would be over. He would one day be found dead in a ditch, like Molly. 

He would simply not be sick, Duff decided. Feeling faint for a moment was not a sign that he had caught anything deathly. Who knew what Molly had suffered from? Could be something completely else. He squared his shoulders, forced the last tendrils of dizziness out of his brain and climbed up the hill. 

+++

Duff was back shortly after noon. Kate, accompanied by a little girl of eight or nine years, offered him some bread and cheese for lunch and then sent him off to help out Mr Rose. Axl. The omnipresent use of first names still needed a bit getting used to, but he was adapting, mainly by avoiding to ever address anybody directly. 

“Why can’t I go, too?” the girl, her sister Elsie, complained. “I want to learn a new spell.”

“Because last time you were allowed you made a nuisance out of yourself,” Kate replied. “Get it into your head that you are not a witch. You can help me with dusting the furniture.”

Duff didn’t catch any more of the ensuing argument, but faced his own assignments instead. 

“Start over there.” Axl pointed at a large, open crate that must have been delivered while he had been out. “I’ll explain in a moment.”

A huge ledger lay open on the counter, its pages divided into three columns each. Axl made notes in tiny, neat numbers and letters. 

Not wanting to spy on him, Duff approached the crate instead and peeked inside. It was full of glass marbles, the type he had played with as a kid, just much more colourful. 

With a fond smile at the memory, he picked one of them and held it up. It was almost clear, with green and red swirls all through the body. He had been good at playing marbles and regularly relieved his peers off their treasures. His own hadn’t been this pretty, made of burned clay instead of glass, uneven and tricky to handle in a match.

Once Jon, his oldest brother, had sent them a package full of presents from America. It had contained a handful of glass marbles. Duff had never risked them in a game. He had kept them in the cigar box under the bed, until a little niece had become the proud owner. 

He was about to put the marble back, when it started to glimmer softly from the inside. Surprised he held it a little higher. The glow intensified and in addition his fingertips tingled where they were touching the glass. Fascinated he watched how the green and red swirls moved around each other while it shone brighter and brighter. 

“Put that down!” Axl yelled from across the room. 

Shocked Duff dropped the marble and the tiny orb of light rolled over the tiled floor and under a cupboard. 

“Awesome.” Axl hurried over and perched to look for it. “Touching things you shouldn’t touch is a specialty of yours, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” Duff stuttered. “I thought … you said I should start with the crate.”

Axl gave him an exasperated look. Then he lay flat onto the floor. 

“I can see it,” he said. “We need to get it back.”

Duff laid down, too. The marble was out of reach. 

“Is there something to kick it out?” he asked. “A broom handle maybe?”

“Can’t touch it with wood now that it’s activated,” Axl stood up. “Wood reacts with pretty much everything. Iron, too. Would make it explode.”

“Glass?” Duff asked, looking around. “Or ceramic?”

“What, want to fish for it with a cup?” 

“I could flick it out with another marble,” he suggested. “A non-magic one.”

Axl squinted at him. 

“You sure? We won’t end with a dozen marbles under the cupboard?”

Duff nodded. “There’s an opening from the other side and the angle is not that bad. It should come out at the front.”

Axl picked up a pair of gloves from one of the shelves and handed them over. They were very thin, almost translucent, but about ten sizes too big. Duff still put them on, and they melted around his fingers like a second skin. Surprised he looked at his hands, until Axl cleared his throat.

“Now you can take one,” he said. “Best wear these whenever you’re in the shop, if you’re prone to touching random stuff. Never without protection. And I want both marbles back.”

Duff chose one in a solid blue, and laid down flat on his belly. He checked for angle, distance, spin and flicked the marble towards its glowing counterpart. They collided. The magic one rolled out front while the second ricocheted and made its way out sideways. 

Axl, wearing a pair of similar gloves to Duff’s picked them both up. He muttered something in a foreign language and the glow first dimmed, then died down. 

“Ouch!” 

A sharp pain lanced through Duff’s brain at exactly the moment when marble returned to being a dull piece of glass. He pressed a hand against his forehead and closed his eyes for a second. 

“That’s what you get for playing with magical items.” Axl dropped both marbles carelessly back into the crate. 

“What happened?” Duff asked when the pain had subsided. 

“These,” Axl pointed at the crate, “store magical energy. And where do they get it from? They pull it out of your aura.”

“But I’m not a supernatural being!” 

He shouldn’t have magical energy anywhere. His Mum would go mad if he did. Father O’Brian would make him the topic of one of his more flaming speeches. 

Axl’s eyes narrowed and his expression turned more pinched than before. 

“Last time I checked I was just as natural as everybody else, neither sub nor super.”

“I’m sorry,” Duff stuttered. Had he said something wrong? He had to work harder on understanding the etiquette within this community. 

“The word you use to describe us is ‘magical’. Got that?”

Duff nodded violently. 

“Now. You’ve got magical ... not supernatural ... energy just like everybody else. You’re just too dumb to access it.”

“You mean, if I knew how, I could …”

“No. And you only have very little anyway. Izzy could probably tell you how little exactly, but that’s not important. The important point is that these,” he waved erratically at the marbles, “pull magical energy out of your aura and store it. In case you need an external source. But the likes of you don’t have enough to waste it on anything but keeping it where it’s supposed to be. Within your aura. Understood?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” Axl took another box off one of the shelves. It contained small leather pouches. “Ten into each.”

And so Duff counted and listened to Axl serve customers. His way of doing business was very different from the type of manners one expected from a merchant, but either his clientele was used to his abrasive ways or they didn’t have an alternative. Whatever the reason, the shop was bustling. 

After what seemed like hours of sacking marbles, a man entered the shop. He looked wealthier than the people Duff had seen around Stakesby Road. Everything, from the top hat, over the frock coat down to his boots was spotless and in perfect array. Axl in his fancy, but weirdly outdated clothes, looked almost shabby next to him. 

“How can I help you, sir?” he asked in the same bored tone he seemed to bestow on all his customers. 

“That remains to be seen,” the gentleman replied. “But I was told that this is the place to go to if you require certain … ingredients for a scientific experiment.”

Duff watched out of the corner of his eye, listening in while taking care to not lose count. 

“Ah,” Axl made. “Who said that?”

“The name is of no import. I have a list of substances I require. Are you able to provide these?”

Axl picked up the list and read it through before he handed it back. 

“No.”

“What?” The gentleman asked astounded. “But I was told …”

“As you cannot confide the name of your referrer, I won’t make any assumptions as to where he acquired his misinformation. My suspicion is, sir, that you have fallen victim to some kind of prank. This is an herb shop. We sell herbs. Not …” he pointed at the list. “...this. If you require some cardamom, or gingerroot, I will be happy to assist.”

Axl, chin slightly raised, eyes unwavering, stared the man down. For a minute, the clicking of glass on glass was the only sound that disturbed the grim silence. 

Then the door to the back of the house opened a few inches and Slash, in cat form, squeezed through. He brushed shortly against Duff’s leg before he jumped onto the counter and took up the same sphinx-like posture as the previous evening. 

The gentleman gave him an irritated look before his eyes settled on Axl once more. 

“You are absolutely sure you cannot provide any of these?” he asked. 

Axl raised his chin a bit higher. “Absolutely.”

With a huff, and a tip to his hat, but no word of goodbye, the man left the shop. 

Duff dropped a bag full of marbles, when Slash suddenly shifted right there on the counter. 

“Careful with those.” His bootheels knocked against the counter. “What did he want?”

“Phh. Love potion. Nasty one.” 

“He wasn’t a magical,” Slash jumped down. “What does it even help him to buy ingredients?”

Axl shrugged. “I’m not the only one who can mix it. He might find somebody to help him out.”

Duff tied off the last pouch and set it with its siblings. 

“Anything else?” he asked. “For me to do, I mean.”

Love potion. Nasty one. And Axl was able to make it. But refused to do. Suddenly Duff felt a lot more confident that he had stumbled across a good place. 

“Take a nap,” Slash said and Axl snorted. Maybe it was the cat talking. “As you’ve volunteered for digging. I suppose Izzy will leave after dinner and you never know how long it takes.”

That was actually a sensible suggestion. Duff had almost closed the door behind himself, when he caught a glimpse of Slash bowing forward and brushing his mouth against Axl’s.


	6. Grave Robbery

Dinner consisted of the ubiquitous poor-man’s-meal, cabbage and potatoes cooked together with a bit of mutton and stale bread to dunk in. For Duff, this was a certain luxury. At home, meat had only been served on Sundays. His appetite was in sync with the available opulence, and he justified it to himself by preparing for a night of physical labour. 

Izzy had appeared as late for dinner, as he had been for breakfast. His energy level was similar, too. He sustained his skinny body by chewing on a piece of dry bread which he now and then dipped listlessly into the stew.

Kate had left half an hour ago to be home before dark, but when Duff wanted to take care of the dishes after their meal, Izzy told him to be ready in five minutes. Cleaning up had to wait, it seemed. 

It didn’t take much to get ready. The evening was far too warm for a coat. Putting on his boots was all there was to do for Duff before they met in the shop room. Izzy had come to a similar conclusion. A gentleman may never go out without a coat, but that rule seemed not to be enforced for a wizard on a grave robbing mission. His concession to the latest fashion consisted of his recently cleaned hat, a double-barrelled shotgun over one shoulder and a worn leather satchel over the other. He was about as talkative as he had been during dinner, just muttered something that sounded vaguely obscene and handed Duff a spade and a shovel to carry. 

Then they stepped out into the twilight. 

For most of the day, it had been cloudy, but later in the afternoon the wind had died and a stifling heat had settled over the town. After a few steps Duff rolled up his sleeves. 

They headed uphill. As everywhere in Whittlingsfield, they left a tiny piece of poverty behind, with each step that carried them closer to heaven. A clear indication that the rich did not have to walk if they didn’t want to. The houses grew higher and wider, the yards became spacious and one breathed more easily without the constant smoke from too many coal fires. 

Izzy walked quickly and soon Duff’s muscles started to ache. He blamed his time at Mrs Padget’s for his lacking physical prowess. Working in a horizontal position was not conducive to once’s general fitness. But if digging graves was a regular occurrence, he would soon be up to snuff. 

It didn’t take long until they left the hill behind them and walked down towards the cliff path on the other side. The grey church with its square steeple rose against a dark cloud bank over the sea. Duff hoped they would be done before the thunderstorm hit. 

The churchyard, enclosed by a drystone wall, lay to the East. Crosses and headstones, interspersed by century old yew trees, grew crisscross on a grassy field. None of them stood straight, instead they tilted to the left and right and back and forward like masts all over a ship’s graveyard. Duff honed in on the iron wrought gate, but Izzy marched on. 

“Izzy?” Duff asked after they had walked a while along the top of the cliff. “Where are we going?” 

He seriously considered returning to the more respectful ‘sir’. Yes, he was working for an odd trio in general, but there was a difference between the wizard and the other two, that Duff couldn’t put his finger on. There was the reserve that bordered on and sometimes crossed over to arrogance, but also the way he observed his surroundings. 

Slash’s laid back attitude made him easy to deal with, and Axl was primarily busy with himself. Izzy, on the other hand, may appear as part of the furniture most of the time, but there was something put-on about the apathy. Whenever he bothered to direct his attention at somebody, he was suddenly alert. 

Izzy turned looked over his shoulder and slowed down until Duff had caught up. 

“The Robinson’s estate,” he said. “It’s about another mile.” He pointed into the growing darkness. “Need a break?”

Duff shook his head. Was it obvious that he was below his peak? He hoped not. 

“What are we doing at the Robinson’s estate?” He asked after another half mile, which they had covered closer to each other. “I thought we’d go to the church. ‘cause Slash said it was about graves.”

“They have a private graveyard.” Izzy let out an indignant huff. “Why they can’t be buried in the churchyard just like everybody else, I don’t know. Would save us a lot of trouble. But, no, they need their own personal hole in the ground where they are not at risk to get touched by lesser corpses.”

“And we are … going to dig a grave for them?” 

Rather steal whatever had been buried with them, if Slash had been right. It made him feel uncomfortable. Grave desecration was a sin, but even if it wasn’t, disturbing the rest of the dead would lead to trouble. 

“No.” Izzy kicked a stone over the edge of the cliff. “We’re taking care of their ghoul problem.”

“Oh.” Duff was not sure what a ghoul problem was, but it sounded unpleasant.

“Yes.” Izzy quickened his steps. “The churchyard is under control, so if they were just dumping their relatives there, we would now be at home and getting a good night’s rest. But they absolutely had to bury fresh meat on their property. A couple of months ago, if I remember correctly. And now they have attracted ghouls. It’s like putting down bait.”

‘Around Easter,’ lay on Duff’s tongue, but he swallowed it quickly. Was he going to dig out Mr Robinson? Three months after he had died on him? Literally? Apparently, yes. Suddenly he tasted dinner again, spiced with a touch of bile and a pinch of disgust. Now he understood why Izzy had only picked at his food. To avoid having it make a second appearance. 

“And they asked you to take care of the problem?”

They were leaving the cliff, turning inland on a bridle path. Duff felt a pleasant breeze on his overheated skin. The weather was changing. 

“No. We’ll get rid of them before they even notice that they’re there.”

“Ah,” Duff made, as if this was clarifying why Izzy had to be the one to do it if it left him so unhappy. 

Apparently, his lack of understanding was written all over his face, because this time he got a reply before he had thought of his next question. 

“Because somebody has to. Because if a family like the Robinsons realizes that their precious ancestors are eaten by ghouls, they will raise hell. And they won’t care that the ghouls invaded all on their own and without extra help from Foxhill. Issues like that will always reflect on us. So, whenever somebody notices something out of the ordinary, I am informed and can bust my ass taking care of it. This time it was one of the gardener’s hands. Nice kid. Bit younger than you. Lives off Spinniker Close.”

Now Duff did understand. One question however remained open. 

“How do we do it?”

Izzy chuckled without the slightest hint of humour. 

“We’ll smoke them out.”

+++

If Duff had hoped to see the Robinson’s Estate, he would have been disappointed. They didn’t make it near the family’s stately home, which lay in the middle of a sprawling park. Izzy knew his way around. It was pitch black by now, but he led Duff without wavering over a small, winding path, through a tiny piece of woodland, then through something that made him wish for a machete, and finally across an open meadow full of giant trees towards a secluded corner between man-high hedges and centuries old oaks. 

In the darkness, Duff stumbled over something and landed flat on his belly, spade and shovel clattering to the ground. 

Izzy snickered while Duff felt around and realized, that he had discovered the first grave all on his own. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he made out half a dozen headstones within an enclosed area. The fence was less than knee-high and had been the reason for his downfall. 

“Good thing I took precautions for your failing night sight, huh?” 

Izzy crammed a long object out of his satchel. A closer look exposed it as a little ball on top of a stick. Then he murmured something that sounded about as Latin as one of Father O’Brian’s preaches, and a dim, pale green light shimmered bright enough to give them an idea of their surroundings. 

“Won’t we be spotted like this?” Duff asked. Surely some groundskeeper would be on his regular patrol. 

“No.” Izzy sat down on one of the headstones and cushioned the shotgun in his lap. He planted the magic torch in the ground and used it to light a cigarette. “Can’t be seen from further away than a few steps.”

The cigarette gleamed in the same pale green colour. 

“Get started. There.”

Izzy pointed at the grave that lay the farthest to the right. The heap of earth had not been properly flattened yet, indicating its recent origin. 

“I just …”

“You just dig.”

Duff picked up the spade and got to work. He was lucky, the earth hadn’t set yet and digging was not as strenuous as he had feared. It was still hard enough to make him sweat in the sweltering summer night. The breeze he had felt at the cliff didn’t reach them within the enclosure, but he wasn’t surprised when he heard the first rumbles of the incoming thunderstorm. 

“To entertain me a little,” Izzy said when Duff had removed the top layer, “don’t think I didn’t notice that you haven’t answered my question this morning. What were you doing in Foxhill in the middle of the night? And don’t give me any crap like ‘I had lost my way’. Nobody just loses his way and ends in Foxhill.”

“I …,” Duff rammed the spade into the ground while thinking about a good answer that wasn’t too far off the truth. He came up empty and considered blatant lying, but was left with another blank. “I was dropped off. By a cab.”

“A cab.” Izzy had crossed one ankle over the knee of the other leg. The cigarette smouldered green when he took a drag. “You just happened to drive around in a cab and when you were in Foxhill you realized you didn’t have enough money to go any further?”

Duff dug furiously. 

“I was…,” he tossed the spade aside and picked up the shovel to deal with loosened earth. “I was …”

“Were what, Duff?” Izzy’s voice had lost its acerbity. He sounded almost compassionate. It would reassume its usual acridness as soon as he got the next part. 

“I had to eat,” Duff said. He was now knee-deep inside the grave and the soil became looser with each turn of the shovel. “And nobody would give me a job. Do you know how hard it is to find work when you’re Irish?”

“I can imagine,” Izzy said dryly. 

Yes, it was insensitive, but Foxhill was a community. They had each other. At least Duff hoped they had. 

“So, I did … what I had to.” 

Violently, Duff tossed a few shovels full of soil out of the grave, then picked up the spade and hacked it with vengeance into the ground. If he lost his work now, he couldn’t help it. Izzy must have grasped what he was talking about, but he refused to make it easy. He sat there and waited for the full confession. He could wait until judgement day. 

Duff kept digging until he thought he had managed to dodge the final reply. His arms had started hurting a while ago, but now his shoulders decided to join in the fun. His breath was coming harsher, his skin itched. 

“And what did you have to do?” Izzy asked lightly. 

Duff straightened and looked at his new and soon bygone employer. The upper line of the grave was now at the height of his hips. He wiped sweat off his forehead and sticky hair out of his eyes. A lightning flashed across the night sky, followed by the roll of thunder. The storm was coming nearer. 

“I sucked him off. Need details?”

Izzy finished the cigarette and extinguished it against the sole of his boot before snipping it into the grave. Then he closed his hands around the shotgun in his lap. His face obtained a pale green tinge as he cocked his head and got caught in the light from the magic torch. 

“I am familiar with the process.” There was no heat in his voice, no disgust. For a moment, a soft smile played around his lips, but was gone before Duff could be sure he had seen it. “I suppose, you were not happy with your line of work?”

“Not really.” Duff started on the final stretch. “I’d like to keep my current occupation.”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t care much about the past. The present is tedious enough.”

Duff’s heart beat faster. He would not get fired on his first workday. But given what he was currently doing, he couldn’t imagine that there was much of a competition. 

The spade hit on something solid, when Duff felt a sudden burst of dizziness. It was similar to the one he had experienced in the morning. In the darkness he couldn’t be sure that his vision was blurring, but all the rest of the symptoms was there. 

“Duff?” he heard a voice through the rush of blood in his ears. “You OK down there?”

“Yes,” he brought out, and managed to stand straight. 

He looked up. Izzy had left his headstone behind and hovered now right next to the grave. 

“You sure? You appeared … unwell.”

“I’m good,” Duff hurried to say. He was not sick. Couldn’t be. He wiped a hand over his mouth and swallowed excess saliva. “And I think there’s the coffin.”

Izzy picked up the torch and held it into the grave. 

“There’s the entry.” 

He pointed towards one corner. Duff turned into the indicated direction and noticed the upper rim of what looked like the mouth of a tunnel. He made a step back What if some ghoul had come out and attacked him from behind? 

“We need to fully uncover it. Have a break, I can take over.”

“No, I’m still good to go.” Duff just started digging again and Izzy didn’t push it. He remained closer to the rim though, holding the torch down for more light. 

Eventually the coffin got in the way. The wood splintered when he accidentally hit it with the spade, and Duff almost retched as the stench of rotten flesh rose from its interior. Izzy didn’t seem to mind. He jumped down, too and pull at the lid. 

“Help me here.”

Together they uncovered the body. Or what was left off it. Which wasn’t much. The ribcage was torn open, the inner organs gone. The legs looked as if somebody had polished the meat off a chicken thigh. The face, however, was still there, which made it all worse. Duff recognized him immediately. 

He tasted mutton and cabbage once more, right before he started to retch. Luckily not onto poor Mr Robinson. 

“Good?” Izzy asked when he had finished. 

“Sorry,” Duff brought out. “I’m not normally this squeamish. It’s just … I knew him.”

“You knew him?” Izzy watched him quizzically. “You knew Sir Adam Robinson of the Whittlingsfield Robinsons? What, did you dine with the family last Christmas?” 

“He was a client,” Duff muttered. “A regular one.”

“A …,” Izzy stopped. “Let’s finish this first. Give me the shovel and get out.” 

This time Duff didn’t resist, but gratefully accepted the reprieve. He was sure that the questions of how he came to know Mr Robinson wasn’t put aside yet. He would have to admit to his interlude at Mrs Padget’s, too. Maybe the Irish weren’t as lucky as they were commonly believed to be. 

+++

Duff, now the one sitting on the headstone, watched glumly how Izzy excavated the lower part of the tunnel. Either he was used to digging or his bony frame held more strength than it betrayed at first glance. When he was done, he tossed the spade over the rim. 

“Give me the satchel.”

Duff carefully handed it down. 

“And the shotgun.” He strapped it onto his back. “Wait there.”

“What?” Duff pulled the light stick out and jumped into the grave. 

The black hole loomed in front of them like a gate into the underworld. 

“I’ll go with you.”

Izzy gave him a quizzical look. “This might be dangerous.”

“Yes! That’s exactly why!”

Did he take him for a coward? Because he had vomited next to some horribly mutilated carcass? 

“I’m not paying you enough to get you into danger.” Izzy crammed through his satchel and unearthed several foot-long, cylindrical objects. “Stay out.” 

“If you get yourself killed, you won’t be paying me anything at all. And I need this job. I’ll come.”

Izzy scowled. “You’re a bit headstrong, aren’t you?” 

“Not at all,” Duff returned. “But I’m coming.” 

“Have it your way.” Izzy turned towards the tunnel. “Just don’t complain if you’re losing some limbs.”

“Won’t.” 

Holding up the light, Duff ducked his head and followed him into the burrow. It wasn’t high enough for him to stand straight, but he got by with stooping a little. Izzy’s hat tipped against the ceiling now and then, but he didn’t bother to take it off. 

If the stench of rotting flesh had been nauseating outside, it was nothing compared to the assault on his nostrils once they had left the outer world behind. Maybe ghouls were born without noses.

The tunnel itself looked like something a mole might dig, rough and uneven, with roots growing through the walls and the ceilings. Duff tried to not let fear get the better of him, but he couldn’t deny it: He was close to shitting his trousers. His heart beat furiously, and while his sweat-slicked skin cooled uncomfortably in the dropping temperatures, his insides were burning up. 

“You can go back anytime,” Izzy said. “Really, I can smell your fear.”

“You’d smell, too if you had been digging for half the night,” Duff muttered. “’s got nothing to do with fear.”

Izzy chuckled. “You’ve got guts, I give you that.” 

He couldn’t say how far they pressed forward into the ghoul’s lair, but it couldn’t have been much more than fifty yards, when Izzy stopped. He loosened a bit of soil and pushed one of the cylinders into the wall. 

“Retreat,” he said. 

On their way back they mounted the rest of the cylinders, about a dozen all in all, the last one directly at the entrance. Duff still had no idea what they were, but now was not the time for stupid questions. He would learn soon enough. 

He sighed with relief when he breathed fresh … or at least fresher air. Another lightning flashed over the horizon, the thunder following a second or two later. The wind had picked up, and the leaves of the oak trees rustled in the sudden breeze. Whatever they were doing here, they should better hurry up. 

The next item that came out of the satchel was a familiar one. A pouch of marbles. Izzy took one of them and attached the bag to his belt. Then he closed his hand around it. Light penetrated the gaps between his fingers, far brighter than the dim glow Duff had produced himself. When Izzy opened his fist, a ball of icy blue fire lay on his palm. 

He took aim and flicked it at the first cylinder. It started to sizzle and a waft of smoke escaped out of its top. 

“Out!” Izzy yelled and climbed out of the grave. 

Duff followed. Together they jumped over the little fence and ran to one of the oak trees for cover. Smoke billowed out of the tunnel’s mouth, and the sizzling swelled into a loud hoot. 

Duff coughed. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Izzy leant against the tree, posture relaxed, the shotgun now resting in the crook of his elbow. “I told you, we’ll smoke them out. I’ve sparked the first one off and it has started a chain reaction.”

It didn’t take long until Duff saw movement. He looked for something to use as a weapon and wished he had brought the spade. 

Izzy stepped forward, shotgun cocked and pointed. 

“Now, what do we have here?” he asked 

A handful of figures crawled coughing and puffing out of the grave. They were about five feet high, Duff estimated. Rangy bodies were tightly wrapped in dirty grey cloth, topped by bald heads and wrinkly faces. It was impossible to say whether they were male or female. When they spotted Izzy through the smoke, one of them bared an insane amount of sharp looking teeth. 

“The wizard.” His voice was deep and rough and rolled like gravel. “We’ve heard about you.”

“Then you should know that coming here was a bad idea. The sinner’s yard is ghoul territory. Go there.”

The sinner’s yard, resting place for the executed, suicides and those who couldn’t pay for a spot outside a mass burial, was on the other side of town, close to the gallows hill. 

“It’s crowded there,” the ghoul said. He approached them, the other, Duff counted four following. “And hardly enough flesh for everybody. I have a family to take care of.” 

“I’m crying.” Izzy pushed the hat back and lifted the shotgun an inch. “One more step and you will be, too.”

Duff retreated behind the tree. The ghouls were all focussed on Izzy, but he had only two shots against five of them. And likely a dozen magic tricks he could pull, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. A subterranean creature would have excellent night sight, but he nevertheless tried to stick to the shadows while he circled around the group and back to the grave. 

“What is this to you?” the ghoul asked, coming nearer. “If we don’t eat them, the worms will. Where’s the difference?”

“I don’t make the rules,” Izzy replied. “Stay back.”

“So, I heard right?” the leader made another step forward. And another. “You’re doing the dirty work for them?”

Izzy didn’t reply. Instead, he levelled the gun and fired without another warning. The ghoul landed on his backside, but to Duff’s disappointment, he wasn’t dead at all. There was a moment of shocked silence, but then he clambered back to his feet and attacked, followed by the rest of his group. 

Duff sprinted the last few yards and grabbed the spade. A second shot rang out when turned on his heel and threw himself right into the fray. 

Ghouls may be small, but it turned out that they were fast and had sharp teeth. Duff howled when one of them hacked them into his thigh. He tried to shake the creature off, but as he had to use both hands to hit another ghoul with the spade to keep him from biting Izzy, his chances were limited. 

Finally he managed to free his leg and knock another one off his feet with a brutal stroke of the spade when suddenly they all backed off. 

Izzy stood in the middle of the ghoul circle, the shotgun discarded on the ground, one of the marbles on his open palm. It shone as brightly as the previous one had, a blinding, cold blue light that made Duff shield his eyes. 

“Don’t force me to use it,” Izzy said darkly. “We can still forget about this … incident. You all move back to the sinners’ yard and nobody has to die.”

Thunder rolled in the distance. 

“You wouldn’t,” the leader said. 

“Try me. And I have more of these.” He pulled a second marble out of the pouch, activated it in his fist and displayed it on his other hand. 

The lesser ghouls retreated until their leader stood as a solitary figure in the middle of the clearing. 

“Go home,” Izzy said. “Take your family and just go.” 

The ghoul admitted defeat. With a disgusted huff he turned his back on Izzy, making a display of his scorn, and joined the others. Duff watched the sad, paltry group leave. Suddenly he felt sorry for them. He knew how it was to live in an overcrowded place with too little food to go around. 

“Would you really have killed them?” he asked. 

“With what?” Izzy extinguished the marbles and put them back into the pouch. Then he picked up the shotgun and hung it over his shoulder. “Blue light?”

“You mean ….” Duff snorted. “You were bluffing.”

Izzy laughed softly. “They are scared of light. And they know I’m a wizard. So, they drew their own conclusions. Their fault, not mine.”

‘Not ‘a’ wizard’, Duff thought. They had called him ‘the wizard’ and that was something completely else. 

“But, yes, it was a bluff. Come on. We still need to even out the grave and get lost, preferably before the thunderstorm hits.”

They returned to the burial site. Duff didn’t look forward to another round of digging, but it couldn’t be helped. He was balancing the first shovel full of soil over the grave when Izzy jumped down once more and had a closer look at the corpse. He squatted next to the leftovers, and then, to Duff’s dismay reached into the rotting flesh. 

“What…” he asked when Izzy pulled something out. 

“Cufflinks,” he held a small item into the air. “Don’t look like that! Payment for council jobs is lousy and he won’t need them anymore.”

Stealing from the dead was even more of a sin than grave desecration. Duff wanted to protest, but he didn’t have to. Apparently, his face gave it all away.

“Oh, come on!” Izzy threw his arms in the air, but not before tucking his treasured away. “You’re no paragon of virtue either with your… your cabbie-jobs!”

Duff tossed the shovel full of soil onto his head. Izzy spluttered and blinked crumbs out of his eyes before he managed a proper glare. Then he laughed and climbed out of the grave. He reached for the spade, but in passing, he pushed Duff hard enough that he fell into a heap of earth. The were only kept them from starting a childish dirt fight by the first drops of rain from the incoming thunderstorm.


	7. Have a drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a bit to finish this chapter. But, really, the freaking US election is keeping me awake at night. And it isn't even my country!

Getting stains out of clothes would be a regular occurrence in his new line of work, Duff realized. They had restored the grave under an almost painful pelting of raindrops. Now they were heading home, drenched to their skins, boots heavy with mud, clothes so dirty as if they were ghouls themselves. 

The insanity of what he had done might still hit him later, but at the moment, all Duff felt was euphoria. Izzy, too, expressed a sunnier state of mind. He even smiled now and then, while Duff was unable to keep his prattling mouth shut. 

The rain had stopped when they reached Foxhill, and turned into Stakesby Road. It was way past midnight. The streets lay as empty as the evening before, but now that he knew what he had to look for, Duff made out movements in the shadows or heard rustling from behind fences. Cats, dogs, foxes, and nocturnal birds were on the prowl. A night ago, he would have taken them all for animals. 

To Duff’s surprise, they left Stakesby Road after a few yards and turned into one of the alleys. 

“Another job?” he asked, not sure he would make it through a second round. 

“Are you crazy?” Izzy looked as dismayed at the suggestion as Duff felt. “I’ll buy you a drink. You kept up great and I know that you’re having a million questions. We should get them out of the way. Set some of your weirder ideas straight, at least.”

“It’s after hours.” He was reasonably sure that laws were the same in all parts of the town. 

Izzy pushed his hat back with a smirk and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Not if you know where to go.”

Duff decided to not pry any further. 

They followed smaller and smaller alleys, as they penetrated deep into the labyrinth that had piqued his interest in the morning. Had it really been less than a day? It was hardly believable. 

Cobblestone, not overly good on the main roads, but in horrible conditions here, made it difficult to walk in the dark. Lights were non-existent, and the streets seemed to live a second life as quarries, where people dug out stones as needed. Eventually, the paving was gone completely, and they skidded on mud paths the thunderstorm had left in dismal conditions.

When Duff decided that, drink or not, he’d much rather go home, he spotted a light ahead. A lantern, mounted outside one of the houses, cast an orange shine onto a crooked oak door. Izzy picked up the iron wrought ring in its middle and knocked. After a minute, a little boy, who should long be asleep, opened. His grin while beckoning them in, offered a view on far too many teeth. Duff remembered to not ask what he was just in time to close his mouth again. 

He had to bow his head as he entered, but the corridor was high enough for him to stand. The boy led the way past whitewashed walls and through another door into what was clearly a pub. Tables dotted the room, while a bar to the right took up a complete side. The unrendered masonry was painted white, the beams along the low ceiling black from age and smoke, and the owners had barred the single window at the back. 

A handful of late-night drinkers, most of them men, but also a few women, looked up when they entered. The murmuring stopped and Duff felt all eyes settling on him. Then the majority of the clients returned to their drinks as if nothing had happened. A few, however, watched with hostile curiosity.

Suddenly he understood Axl’s warning. Every town had its poorer quarters, and they were always a bit unsafe. Foxhill didn’t appear any worse, but Duff stood out as an outsider. He wore a marker on his forehead that spelled ‘non-magical’ and if somebody was searching for a victim, he would be a welcome target. 

Izzy pretended not to notice. He headed for the bar and placed his order. Then he leant against the cracked wood and eyed the room, nodded at a few persons and ignored others. Duff stood next to him, wishing he was magical himself or less of a novelty, or at least a head smaller. Bringing a dirty spade and shovel to a pub might be considered a bit weird, too. 

“Stradlin.” A man stood up from his table and, beer still in hand, approached them. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Same as you,” Izzy said. “This.” 

He pointed at the tankard in the man’s hand. 

“This your new assistant? Doris was at the shop today. Said she couldn’t believe it at first.”

Duff tried to remember ‘Doris’, but was unable to recall anything noteworthy. Nobody had commented on him. He had been an inconspicuous servant doing a simple task. Except for the lack of magical air around him. 

Izzy looked over his shoulder as if he had only now realized that Duff was standing behind him. 

“Yes. That’s Duff. Duff, this is Walter.”

Duff aimed for a smile, convinced it came out horribly faked. Walter didn’t look as if he was keen on finding new friends, and so he ended his efforts. 

“You really had to pick one of them?” he asked. 

“Of what?” Izzy’s eyes widened in a display of cluelessness. He adjusted the shotgun on his shoulder while his left hand played with the strap. 

“You know. Them.” Walter pointed into Duff’s direction. 

The barkeeper placed two mugs of beer onto the counter. His eyes flicked back and forwards between the two men. Izzy replied with a minuscule shake of his head, and he turned his attention to other customers. 

“No, I don’t know.” Izzy tossed a coin onto the counter and picked up their drinks. “Was nice talking to you, William.”

Duff followed him to one of the tables. 

“Don’t worry,” Izzy put down the mugs and tossed his hat after them. “They’ll get used to you.”

He laid the shotgun onto the bench and dropped the satchel to the floor. Duff leant his tools against the wall. 

“You sure?”

They sat down across from each other, Duff with his back to the wall and eyes on the room. It felt safer that way. 

“Yes. Cheers.” Izzy raised his mug. 

Duff wanted to make a quip about how they might decide to eat him instead, but swallowed it with his first sip of beer. So far people seemed to eat the same type of food non-magicals did. Except for Kate, he supposed. It was urgent time to abstain from the jokes they had carelessly tossed around as kids. 

“Why is everybody looking normal?” he asked when he noticed once more the absence of horns, tails or other unusual body parts. The over-equipped set of teeth the little doorman had displayed was so far the only nod to the nature of the people around him. 

“Normal?” 

“I mean …,” Duff desperately crammed his brain for words that would keep him from putting his other foot in, too. “I mean …”

Izzy let him squirm for the duration of half a dozen sips. 

“I know what you mean.” He ran a hand over his face and wiped a speck of foam off his mouth. “But, really, stop saying stuff like that. Or somebody will sooner or later smash your head in. Would be a shame, huh?”

Duff’s face grew hot. 

“The answer is: glamour. You won’t survive for long between … normal people … if you look like something Hieronymus Bosch might have painted. So, selling glamour amulets is pretty much Axl’s largest source of income. And a service every magical community desperately needs.”

Duff had no idea what that man might have painted, but decided to better not make his ignorance public knowledge. It had to do with horns and tails and far too many teeth, he assumed. 

“I … wanted to ask you something,” Izzy said after a few silent sips. 

He turned the mug around and around, smearing the tabletop with condensed water in the process. Duff, hiding his unease behind his own drink, braced himself for the question. 

“Would you allow me a closer look at your aura?”

Duff put his jar down. Whatever he had expected, more prying into his sordid past, for example, this hadn’t been it. 

“Sure,” he replied. “Can’t you see it anyway? Axl says he can.”

Izzy snorted. “Axl can make out the rough shape, but that’s all. His powers lie elsewhere. No, what I’m asking is: would you mind if I had a detailed look? Because … something is not quite as it should be.”

“Is that what you meant by what you said yesterday? That I have been touched by death?”

Izzy nodded. “And today, when you … grew faint for a moment, it flickered.”

“You can really see that?” 

That Izzy was able to look into his head like that was more than a little disconcerting. He also worried about what exactly should be wrong with his aura, but didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to hear the verdict. 

A shrug. “You can say ‘no’.” 

Duff shook his head. “It’s fine. Look all you want.” He spread out his arms.

Izzy chuckled. “I can’t do it here. I need to enhance it first. And you should never just agree to something like that.”

“Really!” What was it with this man? “First you ask me, then you say I shouldn’t. Make up your mind?”

Duff bit his tongue. He was getting bratty with his employer was a less than stellar idea. Fighting ghouls together had led to a feeling of intimacy one better avoided with those who paid one’s wages. They were not equal, they were not friends, no matter how many drinks they shared. It was difficult to forget when Izzy sat across from him and looked like … that. 

He was alive, for a change, alive and completely dishevelled. Dark hair hung like seaweed around his face and the wrinkled, dirt specked shirt bulged under the suspenders. His eyes sparkled and his lips twitched from time to time. And then he quickly schooled his features and tried to look moody again.

“Want to tell me?” Izzy asked. “What happened? I promise I won’t judge, but it might help me find out what is bothering me.”

And so, Duff told him, about Mrs Padget, Mr Robinson, Mr Campbell and Mr Montgomery. Izzy listened without interrupting him once. 

“That’s quite the story,” he said but didn’t comment any further. 

For a moment his mind seemed to go elsewhere, while his long fingers tapped lightly onto the table and his eyes wandered aimlessly over the pub’s interior. 

“So,” he continued when his attention returned from wherever it had escaped to. “I said I would answer your questions, too. Shoot.”

Duff hesitated. He had a million questions, but he had learned that his curiosity was considered rude and might lead to instant violence if directed at the wrong person.

“How many questions can I ask?”

Izzy snorted. “I won’t tell you anybody’s big secrets. Just stuff that is common knowledge. Feel free to satisfy your curiosity. I’ll stop you when it gets too much.”

Boiling a million questions down to the first one took some time, but he managed.

“The ghoul said you were ‘the wizard’. Why?”

“Because I’m the only one in Whittlingsfield. There aren’t that many in general and we’re always under a bit more scrutinize from the authorities. Our abilities are considered potentially dangerous. Others, like Slash, are more of a nuisance in their eyes, but we have powers they don’t understand at all. So … yes. Wizards tend to avoid settling down.”

“But you did?”

“Looks like it.” Izzy took another sip. “Most people in Foxhill were pretty happy when I moved here. Others regretted it later on. But having a wizard around his helpful. If only to make glamour amulets. Which I suck at, by the way. Axl’s are a lot better. Mine tend to slip and people suddenly reveal body parts they would rather hide.”

Duff gave him a confused look. “Doesn’t that make two wizards? You and Axl?”

“Right, Axl.” 

Izzy ran a hand over his face and settled by pushing his elbow against the table and resting his chin into his palm. His free fingers tapped lightly onto the rim of the tankard. Then he blew out air as if he had difficulties to come to a conclusion. Duff wondered if he was touching on one of the areas that were not common knowledge. 

“Technically, there’s two now, but the people around here still call Axl the witch.” 

“Is that because of his shifting? Is he more often female than male?”

No, he shouldn’t pry any deeper, not when it made Izzy so uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help it. Knowing when to stop had never been part of his virtues. 

“Axl used to be only female for years. Before that, he was only male. Oh, hell, I guess I have to start at the beginning. Brace yourself for a long story.”

That wouldn’t be a problem. Duff loved a good story. He sat back and drank his beer. It was heaven after all the digging and sweating, leave alone the sour taste of vomit he hadn’t been able to fully get rid of. He would bring water to the next ghoul hunt. 

“Ever been up to the church on the cliff?” Izzy started. “St Cosmas and St Damian?” 

“Sure. Just tonight.”

“Nah, I mean inside. For worship?”

“I’m catholic.” 

“Right, you would be.” Izzy didn’t look as if he cared either way. “The vicar, Mr Bailey, that’s Axl’s stepfather. When he was still called William. Axl, not the vicar.”

Duff nodded as if he understood. Good stories often started a bit convoluted, but hopefully, it would make sense later. 

“He married a widow with a baby. A woman who had just moved into the parish. And …, the father of this infant can’t have been who the mother claimed he was. Turned out that little William had certain … abilities. Which were not that becoming for the vicar’s son and so Mr Bailey did his best to beat them out of him.”

“That’s … horrible,” Duff said. 

“Kind of. They managed to keep the lid on it for a long time, but little William was a bit … let’s say he has always been Axl, no matter what they called him. He experimented. In secret, of course. Got his hands onto books no half-grown kid with his powers and total lack of instruction should ever get hold of. He can call himself lucky that nobody got hurt.”

Duff waited while Izzy’s gaze swept absently through the room. 

“There was this girl,” he finally continued. “Irene or something. Don’t remember. Came to church with her family. Axl was in love like any fifteen-year-old falls in love. And one day he collected all of his courage. Approached her after service and asked if he could walk her home.”

That was cute, Duff thought. And he could imagine it. As acrid as he was now, picturing him as this shy rector’s son was not a far stretch. 

“What did she say?” he asked. 

“Told him he was too ugly for her to even consider it.”

“Oh no!” That was mean. “She could have told him a bit nicer.”

“Yes. But Axl remembered that he had these forbidden powers and that there was something to do about it.”

“Did he make a love potion?” If that had gone wrong, it might explain why he was adamantly against them. 

“What? No. He was inexperienced, not an asshole. He concocted a potion for himself. One that was supposed to make him attractive in Irene’s eye. Brewed it, drank it and went to bed”

“Did it work?” Duff asked. Was that the reason why Axl was so good-looking?

“It did. The next morning, he woke up as a girl.”

“Ups.” 

“Yes, ups.” Izzy snorted. “Worst thing was: he couldn’t undo it. Until today nobody has managed to undo it. Three years ago, he finally found some counter potion, and since then he at least shifts into male form. Sometimes. But he can’t control it and it won’t stick.”

“What did the vicar say?” Duff asked. 

Izzy shrugged. “Couldn’t really find an explanation for why his son was suddenly his daughter, could he? Chased him away from home.”

“That …,” Duff tried to find the right words. “That’s … I mean, stepfather or not, who would do something like that?”

“Vicar Bailey, obviously.” Izzy drank a long gulp. “That’s when Axl showed up in Foxhill. Not that he had any alternatives. The story of his ... ehm ... mishap had made the round through half of Whittlingsfield already, and the authorities had picked him up for registration. Afterwards it was Foxhill or leave town.”

“Where did he live?” Duff knew a bit of sleeping rough, but at fifteen years it would have been that much harder. 

“Hung about the streets for a while. Until the old herb witch, Miss Agatha Rose, who owned the shop back then, took him in. Said nobody with so much power should run around untutored and that dowsing him in some proper instructions would keep the community from grievous harm.”

“That was kind of her,” Duff said. 

“Yes, it was.” Izzy pulled his mouth into a wry grin. “It’s how we met. I lived a bit down the road by that time. And there was this new girl working in the shop, and she had this pretty red hair and so one day, when I had found a reason to buy something I absolutely didn’t need, I asked her out.”

Duff bit his lips to keep a snort in. But if he was honest, that was cute, too. 

“And?” he prompted when he couldn’t hide the grin anymore. 

“Stop laughing,” Izzy admonished, but he did laugh himself. “No, there was never anything like that between us. But we did go out. I got an earful of how horrible it was that Miss Agatha made him wear dresses. Don’t think I’ve ever heard the end of that one. But she also helped him rein in his powers and hone them to what they are today. She taught him pretty much all he knows. And that’s a lot. She was very old back then, and frail and people were worried she might die without a successor. Me, too, because everybody kept looking at me, and potions and amulets, really, that’s not my strength.”

Duff wanted to ask what Izzy’s strength was, but didn’t. Maybe all this aura reading was more to his taste. Now that he thought about it, apart from a bit of light and smoke the ghoul hunt had gone down with a disappointing lack of magical fireworks, too. Shouldn’t a wizard have solved the situation with a few explosions instead of fist fighting?

“When Miss Agatha died, she left him the shop. He had changed his surname to hers long before that, but I have the suspicion the reason he named himself Axl was so he wouldn’t have to replace the sign.”

Duff snorted into this beer. “Why does he still wear dresses?”

Izzy rolled his eyes. “You really know how to pick the important questions, huh? Here you can ask me whatever you want and that’s what you come up with?”

Duff shrugged. He didn’t know why, but it seemed relevant. 

“Because he likes them. And no matter what he says, he deals well enough with both forms. There are days when he wakes up male and starts moping around before noon. And the other way round. Sometimes I think, whatever his current sex, Axl is yearning for the other one. Would be perfect if he found a way to shift at will, but it’s not this hardship he makes it out to be. So, yes, that’s why people around her still think of him as the witch. Which makes me the wizard.”

“What about the vicar?” Duff asked. He still couldn’t wrap his head around a man casting out his own son for something outside his control. “Surely by now he …”

“No,” Izzy interrupted him. “Sorry, Duff, but … no.”

They finished their beer and while Duff had started out with a million questions, it took him almost to the end of his drink to come up with another one. 

“Why didn’t Axl know that Slash was magical?”

“Huh?” Izzy had drained his mug and gave him a puzzled look. “Sure, he knew.”

“He said he didn’t know. That he thought Slash was just a regular cat.”

“Oh.” Izzy stood up and took his hat. “That’s easy. All cats are magical.”


	8. Aura

One beer wasn’t enough to make him drunk, but it left a comfortable warmth in Duff’s stomach. When they took the last turn towards the herb shop, all he wanted was crawl into his bed and sleep for an eternity. Or get cleaned up first, wash his dirty clothes so he wouldn’t have to run around naked tomorrow, and have his aura read. But then he would go to bed. 

They had almost reached the door, when a scream, loud enough to lift the roof off the walls, rang out of the house and echoed through the deserted streets. Something clattered, followed by a crash and an ear-piercing screech. 

Before Duff had time to make a decision, he found himself running. He dropped the shovel, but grabbed the spade with both hands. If hitting dangerous creatures was becoming part of his daily routine, he urgently needed a more practical type of weapon. 

The door was unlocked. He pressed the handle and kicked it open while holding on to the spade once more. Something black and rumpled and very fast escaped and fled around the house towards the backyard. 

“Slash?” Izzy called after him. 

Something was hurled into his direction, but Duff hadn’t lived through countless sibling tussles for nothing. Reflexively he closed the door and whatever had been flying his way, slumped against it with a dull thud.

Izzy sighed. He pushed Duff to the side and opened the door without the slightest bit of caution. 

“Don’t you dare throw anything else!” he said. “Remember, I’ve got a gun.”

“Then use it on that damn cat!” Axl yelled. 

Duff released his grip on the spade. He picked up the shovel and followed into the house. Izzy flicked against the oil lamp next to the entrance and it lit up. Soul blackening or not, Duff started to yearn for some magical powers himself. They were extremely practical. He closed the door behind them and searched for the item that had been flung at him. Or after Slash, he assumed. 

On the floor lay a dead rat. 

“Oh, he caught it.” Izzy picked it up by its tail. “Awesome.”

“I was just about to go to bed.” Axl, dressed in an old-fashioned nightgown full of frills and ruffles, stood in the middle of the shop. “And that thing was stuffed between the pillows! I only noticed when I put my head right onto it!”

“How … unfortunate,” Duff stuttered, confused by both, the rat and Axl’s outfit. 

Izzy’s shoulders trembled in a futile attempt to hold in his laughter. 

“It’s not funny, you idiot!” 

Axl watched full of indignation while Izzy lost the battle against self-control. Duff did better, but only because he didn’t understand why Slash should play such a prank. He had seen them kiss. 

“That was a token of love, stupid,” Izzy wheezed out between bouts of mirth. “You know he can’t help it. When he’s a cat, he thinks like a cat. You ruined all his plans for tonight.”

He tossed the rat out onto the street and barred the door behind himself. 

Axl huffed. “Right. He can take his love tokens and shove them elsewhere.”

But he was mollified, Duff noticed. Almost a little pleased, if one looked closely at the corners of his mouth. 

“How did the hunt go?” Axl changed the topic. “Successful, from the state you two are in.”

“They’re gone.” Izzy put the satchel onto the counter. “Don’t think they’ll come back. Not worth it, with how little is left of the corpse.”

“There’s water in the kitchen. I fetched some. Do you think you’ll manage at least once to return from a hunt without looking as if you had to drown them in a mud pit?”

“That would destroy the fun. But thanks. For the water.” 

Izzy followed him out of the room. Duff tagged along. 

Unwilling to return to his rat-infested bed as it was, Axl pulled clean sheets out of the wardrobe in the corridor. Izzy lingered, hands in his pockets. 

“You should apologize to Slash, you know,” he said, laughing a little below the words. “And maybe thank him for his thoughtfulness!”

Quickly he pushed Duff into the kitchen and closed the door behind them just in time to not be hit by another projectile. 

“That was the candleholder,” Izzy said. “At least nothing breakable.”

A tub filled with water awaited, enough for not only washing the two of them but also their clothes. They got rid of the worst of the mud, but not much more. Then, as Duff didn’t own a change of clothes, Izzy went to search for something halfway suitable. His own were dumped for a quick wash into the brownish water and hung up to dry in front of the last embers from the hearth. He would pick them up before going to bed. As a final act, he cleaned the tools and put them away. 

Izzy returned and handed him a shirt and pants. They didn’t fit. America had to wait, it seemed, for he would have to spend his first weekly pay on rectifying the clothes situation. But for now, it was all right. They were dry and clean and that had to be enough. 

“Feel up to some aura reading before bed?” 

Duff had expected the question. Izzy looked a bit hesitant, which made him wonder what the hell was so awkward about it. In fact, he would have preferred to go to sleep, but wizards had to be nocturnal creatures. At least this one was wide awake.

“Yes, sure,” Duff said. 

Some things were better gotten out of the way, and he had the feeling that aura reading belonged to this category. He followed Izzy into a room at the back of the house, a mixture of bedroom, study and laboratory. 

To the one side was the bed, larger than Duff’s, but not as enormous as his former working place at Mrs Padget’s and definitely not as opulent. To the other side, shelves lined every available square inch. Books piled up high, charts covered whatever space they could find, while loose sheets of paper spilled out of folders like feathers out of an overstuffed pillow. 

Behind the glass door of a locked cupboard Duff spotted boxes full of candles, stacked up bowls made of different materials, a conglomerate of jars and pouches, similar to the herb shop. Amulets hung on hooks at the wall right next to various types of weaponry, from daggers over pistols, rifles to a double-edged sword. The shotgun, cleaned and polished, had retaken its place within this armoury.  
“Take a seat.” Izzy pointed at a table in the middle of the room. 

Duff sat on a solid looking chair. Its carved back pressed uncomfortably against his spine and the armrests were a touch too high to use them as intended. He folded his hands in his lap, instead. The table was a battle veteran in itself. Its top was scratched and scarred and scorched in too many areas to count. He ran his finger over a black burn while Izzy started his preparations.

Duff watched with growing anticipation as he picked up a terracotta bowl and added different types of dried leaves, finely milled powders, and a few drops of something that smelled almost unbearably sweet. 

If he had to swallow this concoction, he might rescind his agreement. Especially as he wasn’t sure yet whether he really wanted to know what was wrong with his aura. What if it was something he couldn’t change? Some things were better ignored. 

“Now.” Izzy, either unaware of or not caring about Duff’s trepidation, put the bowl in front of him. “I will burn this stuff here, and all you have to do is look into the flame.”

Duff nodded. That didn’t sound too bad. 

“Try to concentrate. If you can avoid too much blinking, all the better. If you start feeling a little funny, that’s normal.”

‘Funny’ was a vague concept, but Duff nodded again.

“Right. Let’s get started.”

To his surprise, Izzy didn’t light the mixture, by shooting fire from his fingertips but used a match which he dropped into the bowl. The flame shot up higher than he had expected, but at least it burned in an ordinary yellow instead of blue, green or purple. As instructed, he concentrated on the middle, where the colour bled into orange and red. 

At first, nothing happened. Whatever Izzy was burning, it had some serious long-term qualities. And why did a handful of leaves heat an entire room? Duff started to sweat. It was a weird type of warmth though, not that of a coal fire, but an internal flush. Like sexual arousal, if he was honest. 

Concentrating on the flames became more and more difficult. His eyes drooped, his head grew heavier. When his muscles relaxed to a point that he started to sway, somebody grabbed him by his shoulders and kept him upright. Duff forced his head up once more. To his surprise, his insides tensed and coiled, and then he realized what was wrong with him: he was about to come in his pants.

In the end, Duff was spared this humiliation but had to admit defeat to another one. His vision turned black, and he went out like a light. 

+++

Coming to was a slow process. It took Duff awhile to notice that he was awake, and even longer until it occurred to him that he might attempt to open his eyes. It worked. He blinked a few times and tried to lift a hand. That worked, too. Sitting up was more of a struggle. Luckily, he was somewhere soft and comfortable because he fell back immediately. When he doubled his endeavours, Izzy was there to assist him. 

“What happened?” His throat protested against the words and his vision refused to provide him with more than a blurred image of the dimly lit bedroom. 

“You fainted. Happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about. Come on, sit up.”

Duff wanted to ask why he hadn’t mentioned such a side effect before, but maybe ‘fainting’ and ‘feeling a little funny’ were the same in Izzy’s book. The bed made another attempt at sucking him back in, but he fought valiantly and with a bit of help managed to stay upright. 

“How long?”

“Not long. Maybe an hour. Here, drink this.”

‘An hour’ and ‘not long’ were two different things in Duff’s book, but what did he know? Maybe people passed out for days when they had their aura read. 

A cup appeared between his fingers, and he cast a suspicious look at the pale, strong-smelling liquid that sloshed against its wall. He took a careful sip and almost dropped the cup as its contents set his throat on fire. It purged any lingering faintness from his mind and catapulted him back into the world of those who were wide awake. 

“A spoonful of sugar wouldn’t hurt,” he rasped after another sip. It did not only burn, it also tasted horrible, bitter and acidic at the same time. “What is this?”

“No idea.” Izzy had returned to the table, where he had piled up stacks of books around the smouldering terracotta bowl. One of them, a tome heavy enough to smash somebody’s skull in, lay open in the middle. “Axl said you should drink it.”

Axl. Duff remembered the classification guide on the shop’s counter. ‘Common Use of Britain’s Most Poisonous Plants’

“Is it toxic?” He fought himself through the last few sips. 

“Probably.” 

Izzy watched him and Duff wasn’t sure he found his expression comforting. He seemed concerned and Izzy didn’t appear like a person given to mindless worry. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Duff forced his anxiety down. “Am I going to die?”

He grinned, but when Izzy didn’t reciprocate, the grin slipped right off his face. 

“I am going to die?” 

He put the cup down and swung his legs over the corner of the bed. Whatever had been in there, it worked. He was wide awake. 

“No.” 

Izzy pulled the heavy chair over and faced him. He bowed forward, elbows on his knees, pressed his palms together for a moment before he folded his hands and rested his chin against them. 

“Not if I can help it.”

“And can you help it?” 

It took a moment for the news to settle in, but when it did, Duff was ready to faint again. He couldn’t say if he was hot or cold and any attempts to calm his racing heart turned out completely futile. 

“I hope so. At least you’re at the right place for that. I guess you were lucky to stumble upon us.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Duff asked. 

His head was spinning. A day ago, he hadn’t known that he possessed an aura and now it was defective? What could be wrong with somebody’s aura? How was it repaired? Were there aura-doctors? Was Izzy an aura-doctor? And if not, did he know one? What did it cost to have one’s aura repaired? Did magical people accept installments? 

“How much do you know about auras?” Izzy asked. 

“It contains my magical energy,” Duff repeated what Axl had told him earlier. “Although I wasn’t aware that I had any.”

“Yes, that’s about right. Problem is, your aura has holes. Tiny ones. Like pinpricks. And you’re leaking energy.”

“Axl said I can make new.”

“But not fast enough.” Izzy sat up straight and ran his fingernails absentmindedly over his thigh. “You must have come in contact with something magical, but I have no idea what.”

“The marble,” Duff said. “I touched one of the marbles. It pulled magic out of me. But Axl popped it back into my brain.”

Izzy shook his head. “This was caused by something a lot more powerful. And that’s not even the weirdest thing.”

“It can get any weirder?” Duff asked feebly. 

“Normally your energy is yours. Even if it leaves your aura, it should … hover nearby and try to get back. That’s why the likes of us can do magic at all. But yours just vanishes and I have no idea where it might go. And that’s bizarre because I’m really good at tracking stuff. Nothing escapes without leaving a trace. So where does it disappear to and why can’t I find out?”

“I have no idea,” Duff said. Was he supposed to have an answer? They needed to make an appointment with an aura-doctor for that. 

“No, of course not.” Izzy rubbed both hands over his face. “So, that’s what we have to find out. After we have managed to keep the drain at bay.”

“How?” Even if it included disgusting potions, Duff was willing to drink them all. And he would look into as many flames as he had to and faint as often as was necessary. 

“Not sure yet. I’ll check with Axl. We’ll come up with something.”

That didn’t sound too optimistic in Duff’s ear. He must have shown his dismay because now Izzy obtained the same expression his Mum had used on him when he was six, and she had told him that their old dog had died and was now in heaven to play with all the other dogs. Because every dog went to heaven, no exceptions. And that he should never say it aloud, but Father O’Brian was wrong and dogs did have a soul. Duff started to wonder if Father O’Brian hadn’t been wrong about a few other things, too. 

“Don’t get upset just yet. It’s too early. Luckily you have quite a lot of energy. I’d say you’re borderline magical yourself.”

“What? No, I’m not. Definitely not.”

“Borderline, I said. I doubt you’d ever make it past the threshold. Any eccentric aunts or uncles among your relations? You know, the type who owns too many cats or predicts the weather?”

Duff thought about it. “Great Aunt Emily always won the contest for biggest cabbage.”

Izzy, clearly not impressed by Great Aunt Emily’s abilities, raised his eyebrows. 

“Every year!” Duff insisted. “And her sunflowers would open a week before anybody else’s. And her potatoes never caught the blight. And we loved her plums because there were no worms inside.”

“Hm,” Izzy made. “There are some woodland creatures who can influence plant growth. Although they tend to stick to themselves.”

“But she was a good catholic! Attended church every Sunday and prayed and went to holy communion.” As exciting as the idea was that there might be something magical within his family, Great Aunt Emily wouldn’t have been happy at all. “And it was just plants. This doesn’t mean she’s now in hell, does it?”

Izzy’s mouth stood open for a second before he closed his eyes and shook his head in mild dismay. 

“I’ll give you a pass on this one. Because you might be a bit … confused after the information you just received.”

“Sorry,” Duff said. 

It wasn’t his fault that magic users went to hell. In fact, it worried him because he had started to like Izzy, Axl and Slash. On the other hand, he knew he would go to hell himself after all that he had done at Mrs Padget’s. 

He had tried to go to confession once after leaving, but the priest had sounded so bored that he had stuck to his usual declaration of having skipped mass and eaten bacon on a Friday. At least he would meet some familiar faces down there.

“Go to bed, Duff,” Izzy said, not willing to discuss theological questions. “It’s late. I’ll do what I can, I promise, but not tonight. Oh, and something else. No sex.”

“What?” 

“No sex, Duff.”

“Whom would I have sex with?”

“No idea. But sex intensifies the energy flow immensely. A hundredfold. You might have noticed … earlier.”

“Yes.” Duff frowned. “You could have warned me.”

“I did!”

“You said I might feel a little funny not that I’d get … get …,” he motioned at his nether regions. “Or that I would faint.”

Izzy shrugged. “I didn’t want to scare you. And it was important. Be glad that I did have a look.”

That was true. At least if they could rectify the situation. If not, not knowing might have been nicer. 

“No jerking off either.”

Duff gave him a horrified look. “For how long?”

“Until we have fixed this.”

‘Or until he was dead,’ Duff thought. “You know,” he said, “maybe it’s got nothing to do with each other, but when they died, Mr Robinson, I mean and Mr Campbell and Mr Montgomery. That all happened when … you know … I guess when the energy flow was … you know … at maximum capacity.”

Izzy nodded. “I considered that, too. It’s a pity I didn’t know this before. I would have had a closer look at the corpse. Although there was nothing of his aura left. It does linger for a while after somebody dies, but not for three months and definitely not if the body is chomped down by a ghoul family.”

“Then we don’t have to dig him up again?” For a moment he had feared another encounter with his deceased client. 

“Wouldn’t make any sense. A fresh corpse might give us some pointers. Not a rotten carcass.”

“What about the Irish disease?” Duff asked. 

“What about it?” 

“That’s what it is.” At least Duff thought it was. “People dying suddenly. When they’re with a whore. And there was this girl. Molly. I knew her, but not very well. She’s dead, too. Maybe they were pinholes in her aura.”

“When did that happen?” Izzy asked. 

“Yesterday.”

“Hm.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Let me think about it. You’re not going to keel over anytime soon. We have a bit of time to sort this out. At least if the holes don’t get any bigger. So, no sex. Stick to it.”

“Promise.” Duff climbed off the bed. “And thank you.”

For a moment Izzy looked small, the way he was sitting on the chair. Not like some powerful wizard, but thin and hunched forward, and very unhappy with his inability to find an instant solution. If he hadn’t been his servant, Duff would have hugged him.


	9. Smoke

The next morning, Duff was only a little late for breakfast. Izzy was missing, but he didn’t seem to keep regular hours. Kate had lost part of her shyness. She smiled when she spotted him and pointed at the table where his place was set. 

“Congratulations on your first job done well.” Slash put down the newspaper, while Duff sat and filled his plate. “Sorry for not expressing my compliments upon your return but I had to make a swift exit.”

Axl, female this morning, gave him a long-suffering look. Unlike Duff, who was uncomfortably aware of his half-dried trousers, he had to be in the possession of a well filled wardrobe. Decked out in all his finery, this time in form of a lace trimmed, deep burgundy dress that clashed dramatically with his red hair, he could have given any upper-class lady a run for her money. A polished stone, pale blue and sprinkled white like a robin’s egg, dangled from a long chain and led the admirer’s view from his neck down to … no, Duff definitely wasn’t going there. 

He tackled his food instead. Ghoul hunting made hungry and if he was losing energy in one area it could not hurt to replace in another one. Slash, like him, wore yesterday’s clothes. Somebody who spent most of the day inside a cat’s fur didn’t need to do laundry as often, he assumed. Unlike somebody who went grave digging and ghoul hunting in the only outfit he possessed. 

“What happens to your clothes when you shift?” he blurted out between two forks full of scrambled eggs. “Sorry,” he added, when he noticed Axl’s exasperated look. 

That seemed to be another question one did not ask. But shouldn’t he be naked when he returned from cat to human form?

Slash, far less sensitive when it came to good manners, snorted at the question. 

“Axl did a spell. My body considers them part of my skin when I shift.”

“Oh,” Duff nodded. “That’s very practical.”

“You can say that,” Axl muttered. “Really, those first days after he came clean… You’d walk into a room and were confronted with Slash in all his naked glory.”

“You didn’t mind at all,” Slash said unperturbed. “You just didn’t want anybody else to see.”

Axl blushed, adding another shade of red to his outfit. If anything, it made him even more beautiful. 

“Is Izzy still asleep?” he asked to distract himself from the thought. 

“Administration,” Slash said. He put his fork down and pulled a face. “It’s his assessment today.”

“His…?” 

Axl looked as if he had eaten something sour and Kate had stopped her clattering around. 

“Is that bad?” Duff asked timidly. 

“You could say that.” Axl pulled his face into wrinkles, from his forehead over his nose to his mouth. “We have to do this every five years. Go to the town’s administration and have our powers checked. They want to know exactly who is living here and what we can do. And, of course, they don’t trust us to tell them honestly, which is why we have to go through this … this …” he petered off into a growl of displeasure. 

“Whittlingsfield only allows magical people up to a certain power level,” Slash explained, less upset, but equally unhappy. “If you rank above, you are invited to leave.”

“And Izzy is…,” Now Duff was getting upset, too. 

“No,” Slash quickly said. “No, don’t worry. For a wizard, he’s rather weak.”

“He’s not weak,” Axl protested. 

“In their eyes he is.” Slash pushed his half full plate away. “His powers are mostly passive.”

Duff managed to not ask where exactly Izzy’s powers lay, but he was sure, getting his curiosity under control would end with partial loss of his tongue. 

“I mean, he can make a light, of course, or track down stuff people have lost,” Slash went on. “And he never loses his way.”

“He can also make smoke,” Duff said, but Axl snorted.

“Only if I send him off with a batch of smokers. No, Slash’s right. Izzy’s powers are passive. Like reading your aura to the tiniest last detail.” 

He shuddered, and Duff wondered if he had gone through the same experience he had been subjected to the evening before. 

“And he gets visions,” Slash added. “Sometimes.”

“Very sometimes,” Axl added. “Thank God, because they are only ever horrible. Of death and storms and plagues.”

“But that can be helpful,” Duff said. “If you know there’s a storm…,”

“No,” Axl interrupted him. “He doesn’t predict the weather. He sees a fleet of fishermen dying in a storm. Nothing to do about it because if he sees it, it’s going to happen. He predicted the London pogrom when he was eight years old. His parents told him, it was just a bad dream. And a week later ... bam.”

“Right.” Slash folded his hand behind his head and looked at the ceiling while Axl stared into a corner.  
Duff hid his self-consciousness by shoveling bacon and eggs into his mouth. He knew about the London Purge, of course he did. Armed forces had been sent out to eradicate the capital’s magical communities. They had gotten too organized, too confident, the authorities had said, and needed to be put into their place. 

Afterwards, most towns had regulated who was allowed to settle within their borders, how many magical people, which denominations, how powerful. He had never thought about how laws like that were enforced. Now he knew. 

“Whittlingsfield is not the worst,” Slash finally said. “That’s why the community here is pretty big. People are coming from all over. Which is a problem in itself because it makes the authorities uneasy.”

“How can they even say?” Duff asked. “I mean, you could just pretend to not have certain powers.”

“They have a pet wizard on call,” Axl’s voice dripped with disgust. “He does the assessment. For a hefty fee and an exception permit to reside outside Foxhill.”

“You have to admit, staying around here wouldn’t be conducive to his health,” Slash said. 

“No.” Axl stood up. “I’ve got to open the shop.”

He pushed chair back and stormed out of the room in a sweep of burgundy silk. 

“Is it really that horrible?” Duff asked. 

“It sucks,” Slash said. “For me, it’s shifting back and forward a few times and being poked a bit to find out if I can obtain forms I try to not disclose. But for a wizard? Axl says it feels like being raped. Might be exaggerated, but Izzy didn’t call him out on it. So I guess, it comes close. Axl is toeing the line of what is still permitted in Whittlingsfield, so I assume they prodded him extra hard.”

“Does that mean, he might be evicted?” First from his childhood home and now from his newfound family? His shop? The life he had built up? 

Slash sighed. “His last examination was a year ago, so he’s got a bit of time. But he’s also getting stronger. He started late and his abilities are still developing. Sometimes he discovers things he wasn’t even aware he could do. One of Izzy’s and Axl’s big projects is developing a muffler. To tone you down for a few hours. But it’s not going overly well. It muffles all right, but they can’t hide that they’re using it.”

He stood up, too and Duff got the hint to not ask more questions about an uncomfortable topic. He was left with Kate and a huge load of housework. She was determined to make good use of the sudden increase in domestic staff, and decided that the complete house needed scrubbing. 

And so, Duff dusted furniture, moped floors and wiped spiderwebs out of corners. 

“How come Elsie is a witch and not a werewolf?” Duff asked while he was taking care of all the upper shelves in the pantry. 

“Because you’re so tall,” Kate had said. 

She had grown confident in telling him what to do and revelled in her role as housekeeper. Duff was happy to do her the favour, but still hoped his future tasks would involve more magic than sorting through the food storage did. 

The thought made him startle. A few days ago he would have licked his fingers after such a job and now it wasn’t good enough? Maybe that was the reason why using magic paved a direct path to hell. Because it was addictive. 

“Wouldn’t something like that run in the family?”

Yes, it was rude to ask questions, but Axl wasn’t around and if he wanted to learn how to not upset people all the time, he had to understand how things worked. 

“Elsie isn’t anything.” Kate, a scarf wrapped around her head and soot smeared over her nose, was stoking the coal fire. “She just wants to be a witch because she admires Axl. And he indulges her by showing her bogus spells. Which he shouldn’t do, but …,” she coughed and closed the lid. “I can’t really say something, can I? And my mother thinks it’s harmless.”

“Oh.” Duff pushed jars full of peas and lentils to the side. “So that happens? That a family has both, magical and non-magical … people?” 

He managed to bite down on the word ‘creature’ just before it escaped. 

“I don’t know.” She straightened her apron and scrubbed at the tiny flecks of ash that had landed on the tiles. “But werewolves are not born. We are made. My family is completely norm… non-magical.”

Duff let his rag sink. On the one hand he was happy that he wasn’t the only one fighting with proper terminology, but on the other hand, what he had heard was disturbing. 

“You were bitten?” he asked. “By a werewolf?”

Kate nodded. She had picked up a rag of her own and polished the spotless sink. 

“I didn’t even know. I mean, I’m not like Slash who can shift at will and who retains his memories when he does. Izzy says experienced werewolves can, but it takes time and practice. For me, when it’s full moon, it just happens. And afterwards, I don’t remember. I’m lucky I never killed anybody. I was at home when it happened for the first time, and there were Mum and Elsie. But my mother, she managed to lock me into the coal cellar. And when I was back to being myself, she said, if anybody was able help us, it would be the witch of Foxhill. So, she took me here.”

She looked up and her eyes were a little shinier than normal. 

“And could he … do something?”

“Axl made me a lupius.” She pulled an amulet out from under her apron. It was round and consisted of intricate silver strings wrapped around each other. “You can only heal a werewolf before the first transformation. But this keeps me from shifting.”

“So … you’re good?” Duff asked carefully. 

She nodded and smiled a little, but her eyes were still teary. 

“We couldn’t afford it. I mean, it’s silver! But Izzy said, I could either take it or he’d have to kill me. ‘cause Foxhill only permits werewolves who are under control. So, I started working here instead of payment. At first. It’s paid off now.”

“You’re still living outside Foxhill?” Duff asked. “I thought, sorry, but I thought…”

“Axl said, I could use this house as address. For the registration. I’m here all day anyway. I go home at night, but nobody needs to know, right?”

“No.” Duff still thought it was cruel. Kate was so young. She couldn’t have been more than a child when it had happened. What harm did it do to let her live with her family?

“Anyway. We’ve got a house to clean.” She tackled the shiny sink with determination. “The library is so untidy, it’s a disgrace. All the armchairs are full of cathair. What if a client comes over and sits in one of them?”

Duff took his clue, picked up his utensils and used the opportunity to snoop around almost every room of the house. 

Axl’s room was on the top floor, and Duff risked a quick look. It was bigger than Izzy’s and a lot frillier, but apart from that, a normal bedroom. Slash didn’t seem to have a place to himself. According to the amount of cat hair on every piece of upholstery, he slept on whatever furniture was available. 

Another room took up half of the upper storey, and reminded him of an apothecary. Duff was reasonably sure that it was out of bounds for him. He still walked through it once, mesmerized by all the sanded bottles full of fluids and powders and weird dried stuff. Izzy’s room was nothing against this and even the shop appeared tame. He caught a peek on stacks off books inside a glass cabinet, but it was locked. 

The library went off the ground corridor. It served a lot of purposes and seeing Izzy’s clients was one of them. Of course, it was filled to the ceiling with books, but Duff had found out that most of them were just that: books. He had expected magical tomes full of spells and potion recipes, but apart from volumes and volumes about herbs and plants and minerals, there was nothing special. He had the suspicion that anything sensitive was stored upstairs. 

But it was a nice room, with comfortable furniture, a cast iron oven in one corner and a small writing desk full of notebooks and pads in the other. 

Slash seemed to like it, too. He was busy spreading more hair over the armchair next to the window while enjoying a prolonged nap. Duff brushed off everything else and also a little bit around him. Then, because he was an idiot and couldn’t help it, he scratched Slash behind his ears until he purred. 

The day passed with more cleaning, water hauling and more cleaning. Kate hadn’t exaggerated when she had declared that they would sort out the entire house. Who would have thought that she could be so tyrannical? 

It was almost evening when Axl interrupted his activities and Duff was ready to do anything, for as long as it didn’t involve any soap. 

“We need to go and get Izzy,” Axl said without preamble. 

Duff crawled out of the little space under the staircase and wiped spiderwebs off his hands. 

“Did he send a message?”

Axl snorted. “I doubt he’s still clear enough for that. No, he just hasn’t returned.”

“Do you think he is in trouble?” Was there something they could do in case he had been arrested or, worse, cast out? “For being too powerful?”

“What? No.” Axl shook his head. “I just think he indulged in some old vices.”

“Oh, you mean he got drunk.” 

That wasn’t so bad. He had plenty experience with drunk people. 

“Something like that.” Axl nestled at the chain around his neck. “I would get him myself, but this freaking body has one big disadvantage: it lacks strength. And I’m not sure he’ll still be walking on his own.”

“That bad?”

“Yes. I could take Slash, but it might be good to have a non-magical along. Slash’s instinct reaction is to shift when there is trouble, and that’s not helpful outside Foxhill.”

So, Izzy hadn’t gone to the midnight pub to get drunk. 

“Where do you think he is?”

Duff followed Axl to the shop. After the thunderstorm the sky was still overcast and the heat had made room for drizzle and cooler temperatures. He thought about taking his coat, but decided against it. He didn’t want to get puke onto it and if Izzy was that drunk, it was a possible outcome. 

“The port.”

Duff looked at Axl, his beautiful red hair and pale skin, the striking figure encased in burgundy silk. He didn’t know much about ladies’ fashion, but he was aware that Axl’s style of neither bothering to put up his hair, nor hide his silhouette under numerous layers of petticoats, and drawers and chemises, the refusal to wear a boned corset, would be considered flaunting. No, not flaunting. Indecent. 

Yes, if he wanted to go and search for a drunken wizard all through the pubs around the port, it was better if he had company. And not in the form of a black cat. 

+++

The way down to the seaside took longer than Duff had anticipated and made him wish he had brought his coat. Shivering and shifting from one foot to the other, he waited while yet another person stopped them for a greeting, a few words or quick advice about the use of some potion or an amulet they either had bought or intended to buy or might buy whenever they had the money. 

Duff got a couple of curious looks, a few greetings and a handful of “how do you like it in Foxhill”s. Apart from that, nobody was interested in anything he might have to contribute to the conversation. It was Axl they wanted. 

All this changed when they reached the familiar environment of the port. The sun was still painting the clouds red, but the local business owners had already geared up for the nightshift. Duff wondered where they would start their search, as Axl did not stop at any of the watering holes he knew well. 

Men, however, stopped for Axl. Hoots and lewd suggestions followed them on their way, some of them bad enough to make Duff want to retaliate, and not in kind. He had been subjected to similar proposals himself and had taken it in stride, but he couldn’t help it: directed at Axl it made his hackles rise. 

When the first one tried to get more than a look, Duff blocked him and sent him packing with a few choice words and a threat of substantial damage to his health in case he didn’t get the message. 

“Are you all right?” Duff turned around when he was sure the man wouldn’t come back. 

Axl’s eyes crinkled a little and his mouth twitched, although he did his best to not show too much amusement. 

“I’m not some damsel in distress. I could fend off any of them without the slightest problem.” 

Suddenly Duff felt like a little boy how had pretended to defend a grown woman with a wooden sword.

“But you’d get in serious trouble if you used magic against non-magical people. Even in self-defence.”

“That,” Axl admitted, “is the only thing keeping me from doing it.”

They walked on, past a group of drunken men who were protesting their expulsion from the Crazy Dog. Duff was short of telling them that it wasn’t a big loss. The Crazy Dog was famous for watering down the drinks. 

“I appreciate it though,” Axl said. “Your … chivalry.” 

Duff snorted and for the next few steps they both shook with laughter. 

Still, Axl wasn’t as poised as he pretended to be. His posture was a little too rigid, his chin a touch too high. Duff would have offered him his arm, but getting a rebuff for such an affront was a given. He still walked a little closer and tried to look a bit more intimidating than he felt. 

They ended in a part of the town so run down, even Duff had avoided it. He might have tried his hand at being a street whore, but people who bought their drinks here were so low on money, he hadn’t been tempted to set up business with the local punters. 

“Do you really think Izzy is here?” he asked. “I mean, no offense, but you have to be really desperate to get your fill in such a sibín.”

“Yes, he is here,” Axl replied. “Over there.” 

He pointed towards a door that claimed to be the entrance to a laundry. Not that anybody around them appeared as if they ever had their clothes washed. Duff gave him a questioning look. 

Axl sighed. “Opium, Duff. Izzy is not here to get drunk.”

“Oh,” Duff made, not sure what else to say. He had never been in an opium den. He hadn’t even known there was one in Whittlingsfield. 

“Yes.” Axl took a deep breath. “Oh.”

He knocked at the door and a little Asian woman in a colourful dress opened. 

“I’ve come to pick up a friend,” Axl said. 

“There’s nobody here.” The woman was about to close the door into their face, but Axl prevented it with a foot inside the gap. 

“I’m not in the mood for joking,” he said. “You let me in, I pick up my friend, and nobody will get hurt.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “We’re closed.”

Then she lifted a foot and stomped right onto Axl’s toes. He yelped and pulled back, but before the woman had a chance to close the door, Duff had pushed his shoulder against it and knocked it out of her hand. 

The woman screamed something in a language he didn’t understand. Two men appeared inside what indeed looked like a laundry, from the huge tubs next to a cold fireplace to the clothes lines, a wringer and a mangle. 

“Look,” Duff started. 

He couldn’t help it. His protectiveness got the better of him, and he did his best to stay between Axl and the enemy. Wizard or not, if he was forbidden from using his powers, then he was a woman facing too many opponents. 

“We don’t want any trouble.” He raised his hands in what he hoped came across as a placating gesture. “But the man we’re looking for … is my mistress’ husband.” 

He gestured at Axl who was casting him an indignant look. Pity. He had to swallow his pride and be Izzy’s wife. 

“And you know who her brother is? Constable Carter. That’s right. Of the police.”

Duff had no idea if any of these people knew who Constable Carter was, but he didn’t know any of the coppers who would be on the beat down here. Constable Carter at least existed. 

“You have two choices. We pick up my mistress’ husband and we’ll be gone before you know it. Or we’ll get the Constable. He won’t be happy that you have lured an honourable man on his way home to his wife and his children into such an … establishment. You’ll go to jail. Your ... business will be closed. Your children will end in the poorhouse. So, what is it?”

The three talked in a hushed tone between them, but then the woman gave Duff a curt nod. 

“That was brilliant,” Axl whispered while they followed her through the laundry and down a brick-built staircase into the cellar. 

“I only hope they don’t suddenly hit us over the head,” Duff whispered back. 

“In that case I won’t back off from using magic, don’t worry. I may be wrong, but I have the feeling they won’t press charges, even if we do.”

Duff was about to reply, when a whiff of an unknown scent caught him by surprise. Something sweet and heavy that overlayed the former mustiness. The woman opened a door at the end of the stairs, and the scent, thick and smooth, hit him like a brick. 

They entered a vaulted cellar, a former storage room, Duff assumed. Cots lined the walls, wobbly wooden constructs topped by ratty matrasses and lethargic people. 

"Don't get stupid ideas," Axl hissed, when Duff took a deep breath. "For as long as you're serving in my house, this is as close to an opium pipe as you'll ever get."

Duff blushed. Was he that easy to read? Yes, he was wondering if the smoke would taste as pleasant as it smelled. There had to be something special about it to make Izzy just ... succumb. He attempted to get a hit by tasting the air. It covered his throat like honey, and he tried to hold it in for longer than a quick inhale. 

The place itself was not how he had imagined an opium den. The room was ... normal. He had expected something far more exotic, carpets and tapestries, silk curtains and velvet cushions, but instead the interior was reduced to the most necessary furniture. Only the silence was out of the ordinary. No talking, no laughing, no screaming. People did not come here for company, they came to smoke. And smoking, it seemed, was a lonely business.

A few of the bunks were curtained off, but Axl had spotted his aim and veered to the right. Duff followed.

For a second he thought they had the wrong candidate. The man who lay there, this small, curled up creature, deep asleep and pitiful in its defeat, couldn’t be Izzy. One hand was pushed under his head, the other was coiled loosely around the pipe. It’s blue and white porcelain bowl and finely crafted silver saddle in the shape of a dragon’s mouth, offered a stark contrast to the overall drabness of the place. The opium lamp, set on a little tray, had burned out, needles and pincers lay discarded next to an now empty ceramic dish.

"Idiot," Axl muttered. "Come on, let's take him home." 

Together arranged the load of dead weight over Duff’s shoulders. Axl picked up the hat. Izzy wasn’t heavy, but dragging him up the staircase made one thing clear: they would never make it back to Foxhill like this. 

"We need to wake him up," he wheezed. 

"No chance." Axl cast him a short glance. "Put him down."

“But..." 

“Just put him down. And wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Duff wanted to run after him but didn’t, not sure who was currently more in need of protection, Axl or Izzy. 

At least it didn’t take long until Axl returned, with a wheelbarrow of all things. Duff didn't bother to ask whether it had been bought, borrowed or stolen. Without much gentleness, he dropped Izzy onto the bed, and they started the long, steep way back up to Foxhill. Why the heck couldn’t it be Foxvalley?

It was a tedious journey home and despite the cool air he broke into sweat. He was doing the main work with Axl helping as good as possible. This time neither of them had the energy to react to the comments they got, there was just one goal before their eyes: the top of the hill. 

It had turned dark in the meanwhile and when they reached Foxhill, the streets were deserted as usual. They had almost made it to their personal stretch of Stakesby Road, when the wheel of the barrow jolted into one of the numerous potholes and toppled over. Before Axl could catch him, Izzy rolled out of the bed and landed right in the gutter. 

“Oh no!” Duff exclaimed. “Really, of all the places …”

Lamenting didn’t help, but he was glad he had left his coat at home when they lifted Izzy out of the sewage. One item less to clean. Something small and round fell out of his pocket, but Axl had picked it up and stuffed it into his own, before Duff had a chance to look at it. 

“At least he got a few things done before drowning in opium smoke,” he muttered.

They rearranged Izzy on the wheelbarrow and were about to continue their plight, when an elderly man in what must have once been his Sunday suit, stopped next to them. His elbow poked out of a hole in his coat, and he sported a few days’ worth of grey stubble around his chin. 

“Miss Rose!” he said and lifted his hat at what was left of its brim. “You look splendid tonight.” 

Axl looked anything but splendid. His hair was a wild mess around his head, and the beautiful dress, sprinkled with waste water and soaked from the bottom halfway up to his knees, sported an ugly tear along one sleeve. His skin was blotchy from exertion and dirt was smeared over his cheek. 

Still, for the rest of his life, Duff would remember this moment and admire him from the bottom of his soul. Axl straightened, wiped his hair back behind his ear, and smiled at the man. A queen on the battlefield, if he had ever seen one. 

“Mr Harris! What a pleasure to meet you. Isn’t it a lovely evening?” 

“Absolutely Miss, absolutely. How is Miss Agatha doing these days?”

“Still in excellent health. Amazing at her age, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is.” He looked down at Izzy. “What has that rascal been up to again? Poor old Mr Stradlin, nothing but trouble with this one.”

He shook his head with a benevolent smile, as if he fondly remembered his own misspent youth. 

“The usual, Mr Harris,” Axl said. “You know him.” 

“Yes, yes. Time to get him home, don’t you think, Miss Rose?”

“That’s what we are doing here.”

“Oh, but that’s not a job for a lady. Let me help you.” 

“I think, I’ve got it,” Duff stuttered, when Mr Harris feebly tried to lift the wheelbarrow and in the process almost poured Izzy out once more. 

The old man looked him over, as if he had only now noticed him. 

“And who might you be, young man?” he asked, not unfriendly. “I don’t think we have ever met.”

“This is Duff. He’s helping out in the shop.” Axl took Mr Harris’ arm and with a move of his head, motioned for Duff to follow. 

“That’s very nice of him. He doesn’t give Miss Agatha any trouble does he?”

“Not at all. We are happy to have him. You know how it goes, a good help is hard to find.”

Duff pushed and followed, while Axl and Mr Harris chatted about this and that, as if this was a typical evening in Foxhill. They stopped again when another person, a woman this time, no, a girl, a little younger than Kate, came running into their direction. 

“Grandpa!” she exclaimed. “Finally. Do you have an idea for how long we have been searching? Oh, Mr Rose, good evening.”

“Yes, good evening,” Axl snapped. “You did get the message, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Her look fell on Izzy and while she seemed taken aback, she didn’t comment on him. “Grandpa was suddenly gone and we couldn’t find him.”

“We? Does that mean you’re all running around?” Axl glared at her, and she shrank at least an inch.

“We had to find him, didn’t we? The kids are at home, of course.” 

“I would still count you as one of ‘the kids’, Sally! Oh hell, take him back and make sure you lock the doors behind you. Really, Sally …”

He broke off. Maybe he remembered that they still had their own yoke to carry home.

Sally took Mr Harris’ arm and hastily pulled him away.

“Good night, Mr Rose. My regards to … Mr Stradlin whenever he’s … awake.” 

Like an afterthought she dropped a curtsey and steered her grandfather home. 

Mr Harris looked back over his shoulder and lifted his hat in a final good-bye. 

“What was this about?” Duff asked while they turned into the final stretch. And it was about time. His arms were falling off. 

“There was a vampire.” Axl said. “About a week ago. Thought it was a good idea to come hunting around here. Izzy took him out and tracked him back to his nest. Two towns over and definitely not our territory. But he sent them a message and threatened them to burn down their lair if they should set foot into Whittlingsfield ever again. So far things have been quiet, but you never know. For the time being people are strongly advised to stay at home at night.”

“That’s why the streets are so empty as soon as it gets dark?” Duff asked. 

“Yes. I give it to the Harris family, they’re tough and most of them would at least make it difficult for a vampire. But Sally is a bit young for that. And if we get a next time, there won’t be a single one, but a whole troop. Slash is keeping an eye on the situation during his nightly strolls, but just because he hasn’t noticed anything so far, doesn’t mean it’s over. They might still consider if they want to retaliate or not. So, this pertains to you, too. No strolling around in the dark. Not on your own at least.”

Duff managed to not ask about the denomination of the Harris family. 

“They’re harpies,” Axl said. “And no,” he added before Duff had a chance to embarrass himself. “They can’t fly.”

They reached the shop and dragged Izzy’s reeking body to his bedroom. 

“What now?” Duff asked when they had deposited his dead weight on the bed. 

“Let him sleep it off. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“But he’s …” filthy, disgusting, smelling like he’d fallen into the sewer. “Shouldn’t we clean him up a bit?”

Axl sighed. “I’m all for letting him rot in his own filth, but I assume your good little heart won’t allow such an atrocity. Get a move on, I’ll help you.”

Duff fetched water from the kitchen, and then they wrestled Izzy out of his stinking clothes. The laundry bill this month would be outrageous. 

For a moment he looked down at the skinny body and thought that maybe Izzy should eat a bit more during meals. Duff had no idea what it took to tackle vampires, but he assumed, a few additional muscles wouldn’t hurt either. Didn’t they have any trolls to take on the job?

He picked up the cloth and started washing off the stench. It felt wrong, somehow, like something that shouldn’t be necessary, and he tried to not think too much about what he was doing. 

“Really Duff, you don’t have to…,” Axl said. “Oh, what the hell. You will anyway.”

“We’re the one who tossed him into the gutter,” Duff pointed out. 

“Because we were kind enough to haul his doped-out carcass home.” 

Axl had sat down on the chair and watched the scene. 

“What’s this?” 

At first Duff thought he had spotted some dirt specks on the inside of Izzy’s upper arm, but when he turned it around, he realized that somebody had written numbers onto the skin. 

“His registration number,” Axl said. 

“His what…?” Duff rubbed the cloth over it, but the writing wouldn’t come off.

“Stop wiping. It’s a tattoo. All you can do is make it extra shiny. We get those when we’re fourteen.”

Duff looked up. “You mean … all of you?”

Axl looked tired. He picked a pencil off the desk and let it flip over the back of his hand. Then he balanced it on the tip of his middle finger and suddenly it started to wobble and melted down like a piece of string. He made a knot into its end and tossed it back onto the table. It returned to being an ordinary pencil. Just with a knot at its end. 

“W is for wizard, then his date of birth and the place of registration.”

“That’s …,” cruel, atrocious, barbaric. Duff could add about a dozen words to his judgement, but it wouldn’t change anything. 

Axl shrugged. “You learn to live with it. And Whittlingsfield is not the worst place. Yes, the regulations suck, but at least they are consistent. In other towns they tighten the rules every other year and you can never be sure if with the next update you might have to leave. Here it’s more or less stable. Which is why Izzy is so adamant on making sure that anything … untoward is solved by us before the officials even notice.”

“You mean… the ghouls?”

Axl sighed. “Really, who cares if some ghouls eat the corpse of some pompous ass? Not Izzy. But he thinks, if we keep to ourselves and make sure the administration takes as little note of us as possible, then they’ll leave us alone. Foxhill council agrees, which is why they pay him for doing this shit work. Most people here do, too. Not everybody, though. Some accuse him of making common cause with the other side. And others think, we can try to stay below their notice as hard as we want, in the end they’ll find reason to strike us down and we should gear up and be prepared.”

Duff had finished his task and pulled the blanket over Izzy. He had never thought about all those problems the magical communities were facing. He had assumed that they were there, at the fringes of society, left to their own device. Not that he had cared. Like everybody else, he had looked the other way and gone on with his own life. 

“They don’t get it,” Axl said. “Why he’s trying so hard. When Izzy was a child, he lost his complete family during the London pogrom. He’s scared something like that might happen agai, anywhere, anytime, so you better take care you don’t give them reason. He’s not a stickler for rules because he believes in them, but because he knows what happens when you pretend, they don’t apply to you.”

“He’s from London?” Duff asked. 

Axl nodded. “Came here when he was … ugh… don’t know. Was before I was cast out for Foxhill.”

Duff wasn’t sure if he should admit that he knew about Axl’s background, but he seemed to treat it as a given. 

“When I met him … we were both about fifteen … he was still pretty messed up.”

“Who wouldn’t be,” Duff said. He wiped a strand of hair out of Izzy’s face, but quickly pulled his hand back when he heard Axl snort under his breath. 

“He had nightmares. And visions. Sometimes. Not many. That wasn’t the problem. A few things did come true, but most were just nightmares. But he was only a kid and he couldn’t say what was what, so he always expected the world to fall apart. For a while he tried to get away with not sleeping at all. Which went as good as you can imagine. And then the opium smoking started. Gave him a reprieve. ’caused lots of other problems on the way.”

“But it’s better now?” Duff asked. He looked at Izzy, his relaxed, peaceful expression and it hurt to think that he should only reach such a state by the use of opium.

“Yes. He was gone for a while. Never said where. I didn’t think I would ever see him again, but one day he knocked at my door and asked if he could stay for a while. Never left.” He chuckled. “Yes, he stays away from it most of the time. But every now and then something unsettles him, and for a day or two, he gets lost in the smoke. And when he wakes up, he has a major hangover and mopes around and goes on everybody’s nerves.”

Axl stood up. 

“I’ll go to bed. You should, too.”

Duff nodded. There was nothing for him to do, and he should go and get some sleep. So why was he so reluctant to leave Izzy alone. 

“Come on.” Axl stretched out his hand. “Out. This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last one. You can’t camp out next to him each time he screws up.”

Duff didn’t know why that should be a problem, but in the end, he did follow Axl out of the room and went to bed. And he only sneaked down two or maybe three times over the course of the night, to make sure that Izzy was still breathing.


	10. The Assistant

Duff spent the next morning cursing a scale. 

Axl had tasked him with portioning about half a ton of some powdery mix into tiny glass bottles, but it was impossible to fill in the exact quantity the scale requested. He started to suspect that it was a magical device and intent on mocking him because no matter how tiny the amount he added, it decided to all of a sudden make a huge leap to the wrong side. Then he had to empty half of the bottle and start again. 

Izzy had yet to show his face. Slash had delivered a cup of tea to his bedroom earlier, and claimed that he was alive. 

Duff sneezed. Yes, he was wearing his magical gloves, but that didn’t keep the dust from invading his nose. He had no idea what kind of powder he was working with, but every now and then he touched his ears to find out whether he was slowly turning into a rabbit. 

He had just corked another bottle and added to its five hundred cousins on the table, when the door was opened and a customer entered. Duff gave him a quick look and was about to return to his job, when he froze mid movement. Constable Carter stood in front of the counter and pulled his hat. 

“Madame,” he said, mesmerized by Axl’s appearance. He indicated a bow. 

Axl, in dark brown and amber today, his hair burning in contrast to the muted colours, fixed him with a cool gaze. 

“How can I help you, sir?”

Constable Carter pulled himself out of his fascination, and obtained the official expression Duff was familiar with. He stated name and rank, not without underlining the importance of his position. Axl remained unimpressed. 

“I have come to speak to the wizard of Foxhill, madame,” he said. “A Mr Stradlin. I was informed I might find him at this shop.” 

“And what is your business with the wizard?” The last word came out as a snarl. 

Constable Carter looked stricken. He pressed his hat to his chest and chose his next words with visible care.

“I’m not sure the matter is at all suitable for the delicate mind of a lady.”

Axl’s eyes narrowed. Duff held his breath, waiting for the eruption. It didn’t come. 

“Duff!” His voice was icy. 

“Yes?” At the last moment he refrained from adding ‘madame’ for the fun of it. 

“How about you show the constable into the library. And then you can go and wake … the wizard.”

“He’s asleep?” Constable Carter asked. It was almost noon. 

“He had a … labour-intensive night,” Axl said with a frigid smile. 

Duff decided it was time for an escape, and beckoned the constable to follow him to the library. His hopes to get away unrecognized, however, were to no avail. 

“McKagan!” The constable said when they were alone. “Duff McKagan. What are you doing here?”

“I followed your advice, sir,” Duff said. “And looked for another job.”

“But here? Does that mean you are…,”

“No,” Duff interrupted him. “Not at all. I’m just working here.”

Constable Carter looked as if he wanted to berate him further, but didn’t. 

“Better than your previous occupation, I assume,” he said instead. 

“Absolutely.” Duff couldn’t stifle a grin. “Would you like some tea, sir? While you’re waiting? For the wizard?” 

This gained him a dubious look. 

“It’s regular tea. I drink it every day. So far it didn’t do me any harm.”

The constable still declined and Duff went to fetch Izzy. Axl intercepted him in the corridor and handed him a tiny glass bottle. 

“Ten drops, every four hours,” he said. 

Not understanding, Duff eyed the pale green fluid. Was it absinthe? It wasn’t even enough for one decent sip. 

“Izzy.” Axl rolled his eyes at his stupidity. “Take a glass, add some water, ten drops.”

“Oh!” Now it dawned on him. “Against the hangover?”

“No! He deserves all the hangover he can get. Helps with the craving. Or we will drag his sorry ass home from the den each time he leaves the house.”

Duff had heard about that. Opium could be as bad as whisky and make its devotees return for its consumption again and again. 

In the kitchen, he filled a glass, added the remedy and knocked at Izzy’s door When he didn’t get a reply, he nudged it open and entered on tiptoes. The room smelled rancid. Without asking for permission, he pulled the curtains back and opened the window. A breeze of fresh air delivered instant relief. 

“Izzy?” 

Duff eyed the figure under the blanket. Not a tuft of hair was visible, leave alone anything that resembled a face. It was impossible to say whether he was awake or deep asleep. 

“Axl asked me to give you this. To help with the hangover.”

It might be a lie, but it got a reaction. 

“That would be a first,” Izzy’s muffled voice came from underneath the pillow. 

Duff approached the bed. “There is a policeman. He wants to talk to you.”

The blanket shifted and Izzy’s face, ghostly pale and surrounded by stringy black hair, emerged. He stretched out a hand and eyed the glass about as suspicious as Constable Carter had looked at the offer of tea. 

“It’s the constable who interrogated me at Mrs Padget’s.”

“Where?” Izzy sniffed the fluid before he took a careful sip. 

“Mrs Padget’s. Where … I used to work.”

“The brothel?” 

Duff winced. “Yes,” he mumbled. 

Izzy took another sip and, apparently convinced that he was not being poisoned, made his way down to the bottom of the glass. 

“What does he want from me?” His voice was deeper than usual, husky as if the smoke still lingered in his throat.

“He wouldn’t say. Thought Axl’s mind was too delicate for his concern.”

Izzy snorted. “And is he still walking on two legs or hopping around and ribbitting?”

“Can Axl really do that?” Duff didn’t know if he should be horrified or excited. 

“No.” Izzy put the glass onto the little table next to the bed and buried his face in his hands. He ran shaky fingers through his hair before he dropped sideways into the pillows. “Stop being stupid, Duff, I’m too sick for that. Get me my clothes. And make sure I’m not putting them on backwards. ‘cause that’s a veritable possibility.”

In the end, Izzy dressed on his own, but Duff was short of tying his shoes for him. Watching him fiddle with the laces was painful. He splashed a bit of water into his face and afterwards looked at least halfway awake. Duff didn’t dare suggest that he might brush his hair. 

“You know what?” Izzy said, as they covered the few steps along the corridor. “If you know this guy, how about you come along?”

“Me?” Duff made a step backwards. He wasn’t fond of the police in general, but Constable Carter woke memories about plush carpets and too short dressing gowns. 

“Come on. You’re my assistant, you have to learn how I do business.”

That made sense, but didn’t change his reluctance to deal with the local law or revisit his own recent misdemeanors. 

Constable Carter stood up, and it took him a moment to hide his astonishment regarding Izzy’s appearance. He likely had expected somebody as well put together as Axl. 

“Constable.” Izzy rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Apologize for letting you wait. My assistant informed me that you are already acquainted?”

The word ‘assistant’ elicited another surprised look. Duff couldn’t blame him. Wizard assistant was quite a step up from catamite, and an unexpected one on top. Thinking about it, he had reason to be proud of himself. 

“Yes, we … had the pleasure.” 

“Good. Then we can skip all the pleasantries. Make yourself comfortable.”

Constable Carter took the armchair by the window. He perched a little stiffly on the corner of his seat while Duff moved over to the sofa. 

Somehow Slash had managed to get into the library and posed upright and expectant on the backrest of the remaining armchair 

“Curiosity killed the cat, or so I’ve heard,” Izzy muttered before he unceremoniously pushed him down and took the seat himself. 

“So, constable. How can I help you?”

Slash joined Duff on the sofa. Constable Carter had just opened his mouth, when there was a knock at the door. Izzy winced and rubbed a finger over his brows.

“Yes?”

Kate entered with a tray full of tea things, including the good china cups and sugar and milk in delicate dishes. Duff had dusted and stacked them all the day before and been informed that they were an inheritance from Miss Agatha and only to be used for important guests. 

“Kate, you’re a godsent,” Izzy said. 

“Actually, it’s Mr Rose who sent me, sir.” 

She smiled and curtsied, as if she was a proper housemaid in a random, well-to-do household. They were all so good at leading double lives, Duff noticed surprised. 

“I stand corrected,” Izzy said.

Kate poured tea and Izzy had slurped down half a cup before the door had closed behind her. Then he turned bloodshot eyes back on their guest. 

“Where were we? Oh yes. It’s not often that we have … the pleasure of the police visiting. What can I do for you?”

Constable Carter balanced one of the tiny cups in his big hand, but didn’t drink. 

“I’m sure you have heard about the ailment which the newspapers have dubbed ‘the Irish disease’.”

“I did.” Izzy swallowed more tea, then pulled a face and suppressed a burp as if his stomach was revolting. He had difficulties to look directly at his opposite, squinting against the sun that shone through the window. “What’s that got to do with us?”

“Well, first, your … assistant was involved with a few of the cases.”

Izzy shrugged. Constable Carter was watching him closely, probably trying to estimate how much he knew about Duff’s past. 

“How did he come to work for you?” 

“I needed an assistant, he asked for the job, I gave it to him.” Izzy refilled his tea cup while the policeman still had to take the first sip. 

Duff didn’t feel like drinking tea either and petted Slash to have something to do with his hands. 

“You didn’t ask for references?” 

“No, why would I?” Izzy’s head seemed short of breaking off his neck like a wilting flower off its stem. “Look, constable, I’m trying to be polite here, but in case you haven’t noticed, yet, I’m sick as a dog. Is this about Duff? Is it about us? Do you think I’m poisoning the well?”

“No.” The policeman put his teacup onto the table. “So far nobody has been able to make out a cause for all the sudden deaths. They may have started at an … upper-class establishment, but now it has moved on to the streets. Before I rule out the possibility that the reason is magical, I would like an expert to look at it.”

An exceptionally bright ray found its way past the curtains and, closing his eyes, Izzy turned his head to the side. Then he put his cup down, too, and looked up. 

“Why me? You have … an expert at your beck and call.”

Constable Carter looked uncomfortable. 

“Aren’t you trusting him or are you working without approval from your superiors?”

“Will you have a look at the latest victim?” Constable Carter asked instead of a reply. 

“Sure.” Izzy rubbed his eyes. “Always glad to help the authorities. Where?”

“Runsfield.” Constable Carter stood up. “I have a cab waiting outside.”

“You mean…,” Izzy coughed. “Of course, you mean now. All right. No time like the present and all that. Come on, Duff. Let’s look at corpses.”

“You want me to come?” 

Duff wasn’t sure he liked the idea. He had had about as much contact with the Irish disease as he ever wanted to have. 

Izzy countered with an underwhelmed look, before he returned his attention to the contable. 

“Five minutes,” he said and dragged himself out of the room. 

“Duff McKagan,” Constable Carter said when they were alone. Apart from Slash, of course, but nobody non-magical cared about the presence of a cat. “Are you sure you want to work for this … individual?”

Duff bristled. “It’s not like I was overrun with job offers. And this is a good occupation. If only that nobody is dying around me.” 

Constable Carter didn’t press the issue. “You’re probably right. Just … take care of yourself. You seem like a decent person and it is worrying how you hop from one unsavoury situation into the next.”

Duff didn’t think there was anything unsavory about his current situation. It wasn’t Izzy’s fault that he had been dragged out of bed with the hangover of the century. He still was willing to help out and the reaction he got seemed a tad ungrateful. 

It took closer to ten minutes, but then Izzy was back. He looked better, still pale and unhealthy, but Duff had the suspicion that Axl had retracted on his stance regarding hangover remedies. 

“Shall we go?” he asked and put on his hat. 

Axl cast them a curious look as they passed through the shop. Constable Carter stopped in front of the counter and couldn’t keep himself from offering another bow. Axl’s expression turned glacial and for a moment Duff feared, the poor policeman would freeze to ice. 

Then Slash pushed the door open and Axl’s expression softened. Slash would surely inform him about anything that had transpired without consideration for his delicate mind.


	11. Cheating Stones

Runsfield was one of the poorer quarters of Whittlingsfield, although one or two steps up from those Duff had conducted business in. The cab stopped at one of the countless worker cottages that lined the street. It looked just as grey and drab as all the other ones, its only difference the piece of black crepe wrapped around the door knob. 

Constable Carter knocked. A little girl, hair in neat pigtails and a clean apron over her dress, looked them up and down from huge eyes before she called for her mother. Duff tried to estimate the age of the widow, but failed. She could be anything between thirty and fifty. About half a dozen children, kept in check by an old woman, were divided over floor and furniture. 

The victim, a Mr Smith, was laid out in the tiny living room. Patchouli hung heavy in the air, but didn’t do much to extinguish the sickly-sweet smell of decay that overtook any home that hosted a wake. There was nobody around to pay condolences though, be it for the scandal that overshadowed a death caused by the Irish disease or because people feared infection. 

Mrs Smith offered tea, but the constable explained they wouldn’t be long enough. She seemed glad to leave them alone and retreat to the kitchen. 

“What did he do for a living?” Izzy, hat in one hand, stood next to the corpse.

Duff kept to the back of the room, not sure why he was here. Assistant or not, he was about as qualified to spot any magical irregularities as Constable Carter. On the other hand, Izzy still looked poorly, and somebody should keep an eye on him. 

“Dock worker. Can you make out anything … unusual?”

Izzy stayed silent. 

“No,” he said after a while. “When did he die?”

“Last night.”

“In the same way as the others?”

“Yes.”

“What about the girl?”

“She’s all right.”

Izzy nodded. “There’s nothing magical, as far as I can say. What did Tremblay have to offer?”

Constable Carter gnashed his teeth. “The same. But he didn’t look at Mr Smith. Just one of the others.”

“Then you have your expert opinion.” Izzy put on his hat. “My condolences to the widow.”

He turned on his heel, and Duff followed him outside. It would have been nice to get a cab back home, mainly whatever Axl had given Izzy started to wear off. 

“So, it’s got nothing to do with … with me?” he asked, when they were a few yards down the street. 

He wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed. 

“His aura is completely gone,” Izzy replied. 

He was so short-winded that Duff was worried how he would manage getting up the hill. They should have brought the wheelbarrow. 

“Nothing left. Not even a speck. That shouldn’t have happened so soon after death. So, yes, whatever it is, it is related.”

“Then why did you say …”

“Are you kidding me?” Izzy stopped for a deep breath. Talking and walking at the same time seemed too much at the moment. “Duff, whatever this is, it causes people to fall down like dead flies. If word gets out that this is magical, we have a riot at our hands. Even Tremblay got it and that bastard is working for the administration.”

The ‘pet wizard’, Duff remembered. 

“And this constable, he’s digging a bit deeper than I like. He’s on to something and we’re just lucky that he seems to be working without approval from above. If they launch a full inquiry ...”

He broke off, when the cab rattled up behind them and stopped. 

“Can I offer you a ride home, gentlemen?” Constable Carter asked out of the window. 

Izzy hesitated. It was obvious that he was as keen on spending time in the company of the police as Duff was, but everybody present knew that walking all the way to Stakesby Road might push him past his limits, and so they entered. 

Duff expected more questions about the Irish disease, but they weren’t coming. 

“What does a magical investigator even do?” Constable Carter asked instead when the horse pulled on. 

Izzy shrugged. “Finding things people have lost, solving thefts, returning stolen property. Things too small for the police to bother.”

“And you use magic to do that?”

“If it helps.”

“Do you also take clients from outside Foxhill?” 

Izzy turned tired eyes on him. His face was slowly fading from pale to grey. 

“I did today, didn’t I? Where do I send the invoice?”

The constable stifled a smile. “Maybe we can solve this … outside official pathways. How about… I owe you?”

“Suits me.” Izzy pretended to admire the scenery. 

“And what does the assistant of a magical investigator do?” the constable now turned to Duff. 

“I carry the equipment,” Duff said, convinced he was not supposed to talk about digging out corpses. 

“Equipment?”

“Yes, you know, all the stuff a wizard needs.” 

He offered his most naïve smile and got away with it. By the time they were home, Izzy was almost asleep, but he perked up considerably when they were taking their leave and exited the cab. 

“Tea,” he demanded as soon as the door had closed behind them. “I need to think. And somebody forgot a wheelbarrow in our yard. Are we doing wholesale now?”

“He needs to sleep,” Duff said to Axl. “Not drink more tea.”

“No, he’s right. We need to think.” Axl barred the shop door and turned the sign to ‘closed’. “Slash told me what the policeman wanted. This can end disastrous for all of us. Come on.”

They followed Izzy into the library. Slash was already there, in human form this time. 

“Here.” Axl handed Izzy another tiny bottle. “But this has to be the last dose for today. You’ll crash real hard when it wears off, and this time it won’t buy you more than maybe an hour.”

Izzy tossed it back with one well-trained gulp. Duff went to make tea and when he returned, the others had already received the gist of their outing. Slumped in his armchair, looking slightly better than before, Izzy accepted his mug with a husky ‘thank you’. 

Slash had taken over the couch, while Axl occupied the middle of the room. 

“First things first,” he said when Duff had deposited the rest of the beverages on the table. 

He pulled a dirty yellow stone on a leather string out of his pocket and let it dangle from one finger.

“I didn’t give it to you,” Izzy frantically patted his trousers. “Did I? When?”

“While you were caught in delirium,” Axl said. “Made a huge show about how I should guard it with my life.”

Izzy’s eyes widened comically, and he almost poured tea over his lap. At the last moment, he caught himself and turned his cup upright again. 

“It rolled out of your pocket when we were dragging you home, stupid.”

“Oh.” Izzy slumped back. “I thought I was starting to do things I can’t remember. That wouldn’t be good. You’ve already enchanted it?”

“Yes. This morning. It’s primed and ready to go. All you have to do is finetune it to the recipient.”

He handed it over to Duff. 

“A cheating stone?” Duff asked, confused. “Why are you giving me a cheating stone? Izzy said I shouldn’t have sex.”

“A what?” Axl and Izzy asked in unison. 

“It’s a cheating stone, isn’t it?” 

He eyed it again. There was no doubt. He felt a tiny bit insulted that Axl thought he would need one. Yes, he had been a whore, but not anymore. And it’s not as like he had done it for the fun of it. He surely wouldn’t run around and sleep with so many people that he needed extra protection against diseases. Apart from the one he had already attracted. 

“What the hell is a cheating stone?” Izzy asked. 

Axl looked equally clueless. 

“This.” Duff held up the object. 

Izzy rolled his eyes. “Explain, Duff. You heard Axl, my time is running out.”

Duff took a deep breath. “When you want to cheat on your wife, for example by going to a whore, but you want to make sure you don’t get sick, then you use a cheating stone. This is one. But it doesn’t really seem to help because Mr Robinson had one, and he still caught the Irish disease. Maybe it’s not from the whores at all, but from the miasma. Maybe we all got it from that. Did anybody ever cosider that? There’s tons of bad air around the port.” 

“Wait.” Izzy stretched his hand out for the chain, and Duff passed it over. 

“Mr Robinson had one of these?”

“Yes. It was annoying. It kept dangling into my face all the time, while he … you know.”

Izzy and Axl exchanged looks. 

“I think it’s a scam,” Duff said. “Because Mr Campbell had one, too. As a ring. I don’t like it if they wear jewellery. The stuff always leaves scratches or gets into your eye or … whatever. Mr Campbell was awfully proud of his cheating stone. He said it had been expensive and you had to know the right people to get one. But I suppose he got it from Mr Robinson. Mr Montgomery had one, too. Looks like they are not as exclusive as they like to pretend, ‘cause by now they’re sold around the docks, I heard.”

“Duff,” Izzy interrupted his ramblings. “This has nothing to do with cheating or diseases or anything like that. If primed correctly, these stones channel aura energy. They are indeed a bit hard to get, but only because the likes of us have no use for them. We have a pretty good grip on our energy flows. But they’re neither exclusive nor expensive, you just have to find somebody who sells them.”

“And that’s usually somebody a bit shady,” Axl replied. “Because … why would you want to temper with somebody’s aura?”

“I got one for you to catch whatever energy you’re leaking and direct it back where it belongs. Won’t stop the depletion, but slow it down a fair bit.”

“Oh,” Duff took the stone back. “So, should I …” he motioned towards his neck. 

Izzy nodded. He stood up and Duff fastened the leather strip around his neck. 

“All right,” Izzy said. “It’s best if you keep it directly on your skin.” 

Duff let it slide under the collar of his shirt. “Will I faint again?” 

“Hopefully not. Ready?” 

Duff nodded his agreement and Izzy curled one hand around his nape, then put his other palm against his forehead. The stone started to warm on his chest. 

“Close your eyes.”

Duff concentrated on Izzy’s touch, tiny movements as he scratched over his scalp, searched and found hold on whatever he had been looking for. His hands were cool at first, but warmed quickly and made his skin prickle where the fingertips almost left dents in his head. The tingling rapidly grew into pulsing, until he feared his brain was getting too small for his skull. 

“Shsh,” Izzy made when he grew dizzy for a moment. “Almost done.”

After what seemed like hours, but had probably been no more than a minute or two, his mind cleared, and he felt … energetic somehow, awake. 

“Duff?” 

Izzy’s hands slipped down to his shoulders and shook him gently. 

Duff blinked, confused at how bright everything suddenly was. And only know did he realize that he hadn’t been running at full capacity for weeks. He hadn’t felt sick, just a bit under the weather. The sudden change for the better made the difference palpable. 

“Looks like it’s working.” Izzy let go off him and returned to his armchair. “You’re brightening a bit.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. 

“Yes,” Axl said “I see it, too.”

Still a little bewildered, Duff sat down. 

“Thank you,” he said. “That was ... awesome.”

“We can exchange all that emotional stuff later,” Axl brought them back to the topic at hand. “Who is handing out emanaters to non-magicals? And what for?”

“Somebody who is tapping into their energy source,” Izzy leant back and closed his eyes. He looked sick, again, as if the ritual had taken more out of him than he liked to admit. “That also explains the damage to Duff’s aura. He wasn’t wearing it, but he got touched often enough to suffer some perforation. Not enough to have it rip completely, just to push needles into it. But if you wear it constantly, and then experience a sudden increase in energy flow, because of an orgasm for example, the weakened sheathing rips open and you get a flood wave. And then you’re dead.”

“But this is worse,” Axl said. “I mean … normally you have to synchronize an emanater with the user. If these are primed to react to any aura they touch, that would be …”

“…black magic,” Izzy finished for him. “Yes. And I don’t know anybody around here who would be strong enough to do that.”

“Hey!” Axl protested. 

“Except you, of course,” Izzy added with a smile. 

“Tremblay?” Slash asked. He had been silent so far, listening without contributing anything. “He’s the only other wizard around.”

Izzy forced out air. “Don’t think so. He’s an asshole, but not an overly brilliant one. And what would he even win by this? I mean, destroying people’s aura is one thing, but you also have to create some sort of collecting tank. Far away from where it is happening.”

“That’s not so difficult,” Axl said. “An emanater can send the energy wherever you want to have it. There may be a limit to the distance, yes, but a few miles shouldn’t be a problem. It’s just a question of priming it correctly.”

Duff felt for the stone under his shirt. It was still warm, but now it was pulsing softly, like a minuscule, external heart. 

“We need to get one of those... cheating stones.” Izzy struggled to get out of his armchair. He swayed softly and grabbed the backrest for support. 

“You’re crashing,” Axl said. “Go to bed. Duff, if we have dockworkers die now, whoever is selling these to the public has gone for mass production. Where would people buy them?”

Duff thought about it. “Lola might now,” he said. “That’s a friend of mine.”

“All right.” Axl stood up, too. “Izzy, to bed. Slash, you and Duff go and scour the port for somebody selling this shit. Make sure you don’t touch them. Take one of the pouches. And as you’re doing it, spread word that they’re a scam.”

“Won’t keep people from trying them out anyway.” Slash stretched and for a moment Duff thought he would shift into cat from. “You coming, Duff?”

“Will Izzy be all right?” he asked when he watched the pitiful figure vanish towards his bedroom. 

“Tomorrow,” Slash replied. “Don’t worry. I’m familiar with this type of potion myself.” 

“You…”

Slash cast him a wry grin. “Got a bit too indulging with the catnip now and then. Axl’s potion pulls whatever energy you have left together for the moment, but as a consequence you are a bit low afterwards. Izzy needs some sleep and time to recuperate and he will be good again. Come on, let’s visit this friend of yours.”

+++

Finding the amulet was more difficult than Duff had thought. He had put his hopes into Lola and her detailed knowledge about everything that was going on in the shadier streets of Whittlingsfield, but all she could come up with was a vague idea. 

“Some of us are wearing them, too now,” she said. “As protection against the new plague.”

She eyed Slash skeptically, but behaved halfway politely. Duff wished he could explain what he was and that there was nothing evil about being a black cat now and then, but it was difficult with the object of discussion standing right next to him. 

In the end, Duff warned Lola against using an amulet, should she ever come across one, and also demand that clients not wear them with her. After a lot of thinking, she pointed him to somebody who had bought one and even had an idea where to find her. 

From there they went on a wild-goose-chase, over different steps, until they found yet another girl who was willing to sell her amulet. In the end, they must have talked to every whore within the whole town and managed to buy about half a dozen cheating stones. The price was so ridiculously low that somebody had to be giving them away for free.7

Making out the source of the gifts turned out impossible. Everybody they spoke to had gotten it from somebody else who had gotten it from a friend or a relative. The origin remained a mystery. 

It was early evening, when they admitted defeat and took their loot home, just in time for dinner.

To Duff’s surprise, Izzy sat - or rather slouched – at the kitchen table and slurped soup under Axl’s watchful eyes. 

“Are you feeling better?” Duff asked. 

“Yes.” Izzy put his spoon down. “Thanks for, you know …” he folded his hands in front of his plate and actually managed to look embarrassed. “Axl said you took care of me yesterday.”

Duff sat on his place. He may not know Axl for long, but suspected that he had used far more drastic words and at least one or two expletives while describing the events of the previous evening. 

“It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Izzy nodded. “Still.” He offered a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

Slash joined them after storing the amulets in the laboratory and the topic changed to their fruitless endeavours. Izzy didn’t offer much participation, but he looked alert and followed the conversation. 

“Now that we’ve got the amulets, we might make some progress,” Axl said. “They should teach us at least something.”

“What can you learn from them?” Duff asked. 

Axl shrugged. “What kind of magic was used, for example.”

Duff hadn’t been aware that there were different types of magic, but as not long ago he hadn’t had any ideas about magic at all, his ignorance wasn’t surprising. 

“And Izzy should be able to track the spell back to where it was cast. Maybe even by whom.”

After their meal they all assembled in the laboratory. Duff and Slash stood to one side of the huge, tiled table in the middle of the room, the two wizards on the other. 

Axl poured the amulets into a bowl and studied them. He jumped, torn out of his concentration, when Izzy put a hand on one shoulder and bowed over the other to get a better look himself. 

“See anything?” Axl asked. Their heads almost touched. 

“Not at first glance.”

“All right then. Time to get the show on the road.” 

They began to collect ingredients. Duff watched as they went through the shelves and cupboards without exchanging more than a word or two. Izzy complained about the shortage of cobalt and Axl grumbled that Izzy never put things back where they belonged, but apart from that, they worked like two well oiled cogwheels. 

He exchanged looks with Slash once or twice, and each time got shrugs as a reply. At least he wasn’t the only one who had no idea what was going down in front of them. 

“Good,” Izzy finally said. “All there. Let’s start with one.”

With a pair of pincers Axl fished out one of the amulets, a round stone on a chain, similar to the one Duff was wearing, and dropped it into another bowl. Then they dusted powder over it, added fluids, used something fine and dusty and when Izzy closed his hands around the dish, a soft shimmer of light emerged from the concoction. It formed a half-globe, glowed first blue, then green, then blue again. 

Duff bowed forward to see more details, just when he noticed out of the wink of the eye, that Axl and Izzy both made a step backwards. A second later, the complete setup exploded. The bowl burst into a myriad of ceramic shards, fluid, foaming and sizzling, gushed all over the table, and pieces of chain shot through half the room. Only the yellow stone lay unharmed in the middle of the blubbering chaos. 

A handful of specks had hit his face and now burned and etched their way into his skin. Frantically Duff rubbed his sleeve over his cheeks, grateful that he hadn’t gotten anything toxic into his eyes. 

“Duff!” Izzy said, slightly exasperated. “Do I have to ban you from the laboratory?”

“No.” Duff stared at his shirtsleeves. They were about as perforated as his aura, at least a dozen tiny holes wherever he had rubbed fluid onto them. And it was the only shirt he possessed. He would have to ask Kate for thread to darn it. At this rate he was going to waste his complete first salary on clothes. America was receding into the far distance once more. 

“Then stand back next time.”

Blushing Duff opened his mouth to utter another excuse, but closed it again when he saw that Izzy’s eyes, unable to hold the sternness he was aiming for, crinkled with amusement. 

“So, what is it?” Slash asked. 

“No idea,” Izzy replied. “You?”

He looked at Axl, but got a shake of the head as reply. 

“Nothing?” Slash asked, astonishment written all over his face. “Nothing at all? What kind of wizard are you?”

“Yes, sure, there’s something.” Izzy pushed his hands into his pockets and watched the still vapouring fluid collect in the drain that ran along the tabletop. “But I can’t really make it out. It feels … weird.”

“How specific,” Axl muttered. 

Izzy snorted. “Feel free to come up with a better description.”

“I would, but I didn’t notice anything at all.”

Surprised, Izzy turned into his direction. “Nothing? Nada? Niente?”

“No. So, detailed account, please. What did you see, what did you feel?”

Izzy took a deep breath. “Cold,” he said. “It felt cold.”

Axl closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure. “How cold? Come on Izzy, show a bit of effort here. Chilly? Freezing?”

“The latter.” Izzy rubbed a hand over his forehead. He was still not fully up to par, Duff thought. “Numbing cold. Like … walking barefoot on a frozen lake. And I could feel the pull at my aura. Like…” he closed his eyes and turned his face upwards, chasing after the memory. “… tendrils. Lots of them. With … tiny barbed hooks. They tried to get a hold, but didn’t manage.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Axl. “Does that help?”

“Not at all. Can you trace it back?”

Izzy winced and moved his head from left to right, as if trying to get kinks out of his neck. “Not sure. I’ll have to try a couple of things.”

“Do that.” 

Axl fetched a cardboard box off one of the shelves and tossed a handful of what looked like sand over the mess. For safety’s sake, Duff made a quick step backwards, but there was only a bit of vapour and then the table was clean. Completely. Very practical, he had to admit. Now they just had to find a way to apply this technique to doing the dishes. 

In the meanwhile, Izzy was pillaging the shelves again. 

“Make sure you reorder what you use up,” Axl said. “Oh, hell, why am I even mentioning it. You won’t anyway. At least make a list of what’s empty.”

“Will do,” Izzy said, but it didn’t sound as if he had listened. 

“Sure, you will. Come on, guys, lets leave the master to work in peace.”

Duff would have liked to watch, but had no choice except to follow the others back to the library. 

“This doesn’t help us, does it?” he asked when they were divided over couch and armchairs again. 

Axl had granted them all two fingers of whisky, and while Slash had tossed his back in one practiced move, Duff did his best to savour his dose. It was good stuff, not the cheap swill he was able to afford on his own, and he wanted to make it last. 

“Let’s wait if Izzy can come up with something,” Slash said. 

He was still human, which must have been the longest Duff had ever seen him abstain from his preferred form. 

Axl didn’t look convinced. “These amulets are unusual. I thought I knew how they were made, but the type of magic used is different from ours. If that is the case, then you know what it might mean.”

“Can’t be,” Slash replied. 

Duff wanted to ask what they were talking about, but kept silent, determined not to be the bothersome child they all seemed to see in him. 

“Izzy felt something. That means it’s got to be from our realm. Obscure, yes, but not foreign.”

“There are different realms?” Duff blurted out. So much about keeping his trap shut. 

“Sure.” Axl gave him an indignant look. He sat leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, letting the amber fluid circle in its glass. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them. You’re Irish, you should.”

“You mean … like Tír na nÓg?”

“For example,” Slash said. “Or Meg Mell. Valhalla. Niðavellir. There are lots of them.”

“The doors between the different realms were closed centuries ago,” Axl objected. “Nothing can cross over.”

“Unless …” Slash cocked his head. 

“A wanderer between worlds?” Axl took a sip, but mainly seemed set on watching his drink move around. 

“What …” Duff started. Really, why couldn’t they for once clue him in on their own? 

Axl took pity on him. “Once upon a time there was regular exchange between the realms, and not only of the friendly variety. So, the doors were sealed. For ever. But every now and then there is a wanderer between worlds. They still hold the power to open the gates and then, for a moment, everybody can cross over.” 

“Let’s wait what Izzy comes up with,” Slash repeated. “If he finds something, then it’s our type of magic, not theirs.” 

“Hopefully,” Axl took another sip. “You know Izzy. He’s too sensitive for his own good. And he couldn’t spot what it was, just felt something cold and tendrilly. Usually he’s more precise. Might just be his type of luck, something reaching for him from another dimension.”

Duff downed the rest of his whisky, waiting for the familiar burn to warm his stomach. Anything to fight the cold that was suddenly trying to take hold on him. 

“This can mean disaster for all of us,” Axl said. “If we don’t stop this … I don’t feel like packing up and leaving, just because some … some … whatever … brings up the town against us.”

Slash pulled his feet onto the couch and shifted into cat. Then he climbed over the armrest, jumped right into Axl’s lap and took up residence there. Axl brushed his fingers tenderly through his fur. Duff knew when he was being the third wheel. He faked a yawn, claimed that all the running around had made him tired, and went to bed.


	12. Cat and Mouse

Duff had expected a lot of activity after the events of the previous evening, but when he got up extra early the next morning to not miss out on anything exciting, things went down as normal. Breakfast, helping out Kate, helping out Axl, scratching Slash behind the ears. And waiting for Izzy to wake up. 

To his surprise, Duff realized that he was missing him. He loved the shop with all its mysterious objects, and he always got excited when Axl had something new to do for him, yes, but he would swap it in a heartbeat for being ‘Izzy’s assistant’. 

It was around lunch when the lost wizard finally made his entrance, but not out of his bedroom, as Duff had expected, but through the front door. 

“You have been out?” Duff asked while refilling a box of tangy smelling candles. Shouldn’t he, the assistant, have been along? 

“Needed a bit of fresh air.”

He must have gotten a lot of fresh air. His hair was mussed and traces of colour on his cheeks contrasted with his overall pale skin. 

“Where’s Axl?” 

Izzy took off his hat and dropped it onto the counter. Duff smiled a little at the sight. He would forget it there and move on to whatever was keeping him busy, and Axl would yell that he was an untidy slob, and Duff would take the hat and hang it onto the hook in the corridor. Of course, he could hang it up right away, but it was more fun to let events develop in the natural order. 

“Getting something out of storage. Did you have any success? I mean … yesterday night?”

Izzy perched on the counter. “Ugh. To be honest, no. Which bothers me a tiny little bit. How’s the emanater holding up?”

Duff reached for the pendant under his shirt. “Good, I think. I feel more awake, somehow.”

Izzy nodded. “Just remember, it’s not a cure. More a remedy to keep you from getting worse. You still have to be careful.”

“No ... that... you mean.” 

He blushed and Izzy, the bastard, entertained himself by watching him squirm.

“For example. Don’t take it off. For no reason.” 

“What are we going to do next? I mean, maybe I should do more inquiries?” 

Duff liked the idea. Despite the threat of doom hanging over their heads, he had enjoyed yesterday’s research. Maybe, with practice, he would make a decent magical investigator himself. People tended to open up to him and that had to be helpful. 

Slash had been reluctant to talk to anybody, he had noticed, leaving it to Duff to approach the girls and boys they had interviewed. Once or twice, he had been sure that whiskers had started to sprout on his face only to be retracted at the last minute. As if dealing with non-magicals was straining his limits, and he was yearning for his animal form. 

“To be honest, I’d like to get one of the amulets that have damaged you. It’s a far stretch, but putting both together, the spell and the effect, might offer me another clue.”

Duff finished sorting and pulled off his gloves. 

“I don’t think they’ll just give them to us. I mean, if I explain how Mr Montgomery and I got to know each other, that might not get over well with the widow.”

Axl returned to the shop room, carrying another batch of candles. He was male today but dressed no less flamboyantly than his female counterpart. Duff thought that somebody had to bring it to him gently but firmly that his shirt’s shade of lavender did not go well with a redhead. While yesterday’s show of burgundy had been clashing, but of dramatic effect, the current colour combination was painful to look at. 

Alas, it wouldn’t be him, as with his perforated shirt sleeves he was not the right person to give fashion advise. 

The new batch of candles was pushed into Duff’s arms, and he was hit by a wave of something earthy smelling as if the box had been stored in a fresh compost pile. 

“Give you what?” Axl picked the hat off the counter and tossed it into Izzy’s direction. “Put that where it belongs.”

“We need to do some breaking and entering.”

Duff almost dropped his load. Sure, ever since their stint at grave robbery he had known that Izzy played fast and loose not only with the law but also with common decency. This, however, seemed a step up on the audacity scale. 

“To get one of the amulets that have damaged Duff’s aura.”

Izzy pressed the hat to his chest before he put it back onto the counter without noticing what he was doing. Axl let out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Sure. Let’s do it … uhm … I’m free after lunch.”

“Might be better in the darkness.”

“Izzy! Getting caught breaking into any of these… these upper-class people’s homes might not be a good idea.” 

“We won’t get caught. I had a look. Councillor Montgomery’s house is a bit detached and not so full of people as the Robinsons' estate, for example. I asked around a bit, most of the servants have their own place. There’s only one or two at night, a maid probably and a footman. I can do a locator spell. There should be traces from Duff’s aura on the amulet. We don’t have to search the entire building, just get in, take the bastard, and get out.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Axl picked up the hat and ran his fingers over the crown. 

Izzy shrugged. “It’s the best I can come up with. I mean… I’m all ear, in case you have a better idea.”

“Are we really breaking into Councillor Montgomery’s house?” Duff blurted out. 

He had put the box down onto the table and the scent seemed to take over the entire shop. 

“Well, not you,” Izzy said. “This is a bit dangerous.” 

“But I’m your assistant!” 

He got a stern look for this presumption. “This is not about fun. It might be dangerous.”

Duff bristled. He was employed to do a job, not earn a bit of pocket money for ‘fun’. 

“You said the same about the ghoul cave.” 

Izzy pulled his mouth into a determined line. “This is different.”

“I’m still your assistant.” 

Duff tried to match the expression of resolve but wasn’t sure he was managing. Izzy seemed more amused than impressed. 

“Let the kid come,” Axl said. “We might find some purpose for him.”

“Hm.” Despite the height difference, Izzy effortlessly looked down on him. “You do as you’re told. Without starting any discussions. And that might include waiting on the street or run home as fast as you can.”

“Promise.” Duff failed to stifle a smile but managed to avoid any musings about why he was happy to be included in criminal activities.

“Yeah, you won’t look that joyful when you go to jail. All right, we’ll meet at midnight. I’ll get on the locator spell. Here. Payday.”

In passing, he tossed something into Duff’s direction. He caught it out of reflex. 

“A shilling? But I’ve only worked for three days!”

“Yes, and I always pay my employees on Friday.” 

Duff turned the coin around in his hand. “Shouldn’t it be sixpence then?”

“Danger bonus.” 

Izzy had left the room before Axl had a chance to hand him the hat.

“Really, Izzy, you’re such a slob!” he yelled after at the closing door. 

Duff took the hat and hung it on the hook in the corridor. And then he used his lunch break to buy clothes without holes. 

+++

Shortly before midnight, Duff waited in the shop while the rest of their band of criminals appeared one after the other. For a change, Axl had refrained from a flashy outfit and was clad, similar to Izzy, in dark workman’s clothes. 

Councillor Montgomery’s home was located in a wealthy fringe quarter of Whittlingsfield. As they made their way in silence, Duff was simultaneously scared and excited. He had done a bit of shoplifting now and then, and once or twice, he had borrowed a horse from a pasture but had never proceeded to anything that would earn him serious jail time if he was caught. 

Izzy had checked the mansion out in the morning and planned their route. They sneaked over a neighbouring property and climbed over the wrought iron fence between the two houses. Then they crept past ornamental shrubs and flower beds until they reached the three-storey stone building. 

“This is still a ridiculous idea,” Axl whispered. “All right, open the damned lock.”

While the rest of them were waiting behind a giant magnolia tree, Izzy slunk forward. He moved noiselessly, back pressed to the wall, ducking under windows, a shadow between shadows until he reached the backdoor. Then he stood and listened. Duff felt the emanater pulse a little faster on his chest. He was about to get worried that he was leaking energy when he realized, that it was his heart and not the pendant that hammered behind his ribs. 

“What’s taking him so long?” Axl hissed. 

Whatever it was, it took a while. Then Izzy backed away from the door and returned. 

“Somebody’s walking around,” he whispered. “Some servant, I suppose. We’ve got to wait a bit longer.”

“Awesome,” Axl replied. “Brought a picnic basket?”

“Guys?” Slash said. He had stepped out of the shade provided by the magnolia and stood in the far too bright light from an almost full moon.

Axl waved for him. “Come back here, you idiot. If somebody looks out of the window…” 

“Yes, window.” Slash joined them again. “There’s one open. See?”

Duff’s look followed Slash’s outstretched arm, and he made out a mansard window. It was probably some servant’s bedroom, overheated after the hot day and wouldn’t help them at all. Or were they supposed to climb up the wall? Suddenly waiting on the street seemed like a good idea. When this was all over, one of them had to treat their broken bones. 

“And there’s a branch that almost reaches the roof,” he pointed to another corner. 

“Good idea.” Izzy crammed in his pocket. “Can you carry both? The pouch and the locator?”

“Just shorten the strip and tie the locator around my neck. I can take the bag into my mouth.”

“No!” Axl protested. “That’s … that’s …. What if you get caught?”

Slash smirked. “Then they’ll toss me out. Benefit of being a cat. They’ll think I came in through an open door or something.”

“Best shot we have,” Izzy said. Axl looked as if he was about to protest, but in the end, he conceded. 

Slash shifted. Izzy crammed a small amulet out of his pocket, and he pushed his head through the noose. Then he bit on one of the little pouches they used to contain magical items, and with a jump, he was up half the tree trunk. 

He climbed upwards, balanced through the crown, and reached the roof on a dangerously thin branch. One last, daring jump, and he was on top of the house. The rest was easier. Slash approached the window from above and bowed over the upper frame to have a look inside. He reached down first with one front paw, then the other, and landed on the window sill. 

Duff held his breath when he moved inside, expected a scream, somebody chasing after the cat, or even tossing him out of the window, but everything remained silent. Izzy and Axl looked equally tense, and he was sure that they all counted the minutes. 

“How does the locator work?” Duff asked when he couldn’t keep silent anymore. 

“It just points him in the right direction,” Izzy explained. “Works only when you’re close, as the flecks of aura left on the stone will be tiny. But within the same house, no problem.”

“Yes, but the emanater will be in some kind of drawer or cupboard and he will have to shift to human to open it,” Axl said. “And that very likely in somebody’s bedroom.” 

“The councillor will have had his personal dressing room.” Izzy’s voice sounded a bit hesitant to Duff as if he was more hoping than believing. “The house is big enough for that.”

Axl made some undetermined noise at the claim, but before they could get into a fight about it, they heard a yell ring out. A light came on in the first storey, then another one, and another. 

“They spotted him! I told you so!”

Duff clenched his fists by his side. He hoped that Slash was right, and he would indeed be tossed out and not hit with a broom. But what people would make out of a cat with a magical amulet around its neck and a pouch in its mouth, was another question. 

They heard some banging, and more yelling, and then the backdoor was torn open and something raced through it. Slash shot past them and towards the fence.

A woman poked her head through the doorway, looking after the fleeing intruder. Immediately, they all pressed as close to the tree trunk as was possible. Duff wished he was at least a dozen inches smaller, sure he was rising out of the shadows like a lighthouse. Izzy panted softly into his ear, while Axl’s hair tickled in his nose. He caught his breath and tried to become less gigantic by buckling his knees. 

After an eternity, whichever servant had taken on the job of removing the cat closed the door. Duff’s heart hammered loud enough to be heard a mile away. His hands were sweaty as he reached for the stone under his shirt, but its pulse remained steady and comforting. 

“All right,” Izzy whispered, when lights went out behind the windows, and the house returned to sleep. “Retreat. Quietly.”

They made their way back just as they had moved in, over the fence and past the neighbour’s garden. Slash waited on a pillar next to the main gate, sitting upright as if he was a stone ornament. The pouch lay between his front paws.

“You managed! Great job.” Izzy took the bag while Axl picked Slash up and briefly buried his face in his fur before sitting him down. 

Slash shifted into human form. 

“Was a bit of a problem,” he said. “The jewellery case was in the widow’s bedroom. Means I couldn’t shift.”

“Told you so!” Axl cast Izzy a reproachful look. 

“Luckily, she had left it out on the dresser, or I would have been in serious scrapes. Was still a hassle to open the clasp with paws. Managed, got out of the bedroom, only to be caught by the maid, of all people.” He grinned. “Totally hilarious. Was a bit of a chase, down all the stairs. She was wielding a carpet beater.”

Izzy put the little bag into his pocket. 

“Let’s hope it’s worth all the trouble.” Axl was still adamant about letting everybody know what he thought about this endeavour. “It’s probably just as useless as the others were.”

“We’ll see,” Izzy replied lightly. “Let’s get home first.”

Axl and Slash were walking ahead while Izzy fell back and joined Duff, who brought up the rear.

“I might need you for the ritual,” he said. 

“Me?” Once again, Duff was not sure whether he should be proud of his sudden importance or dread another embarrassing episode. 

“I’ll explain when we’re back.” Izzy scratched his neck. “The councillor would be better, but he’s not really available, so you might be the next best chance to make this work. If you’re up to it.”

Sounding hesitant as that and considering the way in which Izzy was all of a sudden dragging his feet, the request was more likely the harbinger of another faint or similar discomfiture. Duff stayed silent for the rest of the way. 

Slash, on the other hand, was in high spirits. Duff had never seen him as elated, as when he retold every aspect of his epic heist at least half a dozen times.


	13. A Secret Ingredient

Back at Stakesby Road, Duff expected them to retreat to the laboratory for another round of explosions but to his surprise, Izzy beckoned him into his bedroom. Alone. 

“Aren’t you going to…,” he started but broke off when an oil lamp was lit, and he took in the room. 

Whatever Izzy had done over the course of the night, sleeping had not been part of it. Duff had lived in a few chaotic places since he had left home, but this was taking things to a new dimension. The table was covered with books, some open, some closed, some haphazardly tossed aside. Pages full of scribbling had been torn off notepads and discarded or crumpled up and cast into various corners. Sketches and charts drawn hastily, crossed out and drawn new, lay on top of each other, but nothing seemed to have left him satisfied. 

“Sorry, need to make a bit of room first.” Izzy cleared half of the table with one sweep of his arm. 

Duff sat down on the corner of the bed, wondering how he could be of help within all this. He watched while Izzy prepared his workspace. Another bowl came out, another acrid smelling mixture made him wish for an open window, and then the moment of truth was descending on them. 

Izzy turned around. He leant back against the table and intently looked at his feet before he began to speak. 

“There is one ingredient I need for this.” He fiddled with the scarf he wore around his neck. “From you.”

“Blood?” Duff asked. “How much?”

They were not talking about bleeding him out, were they?

“Seed.”

“Seed?” For a moment, Duff stared dumbly at the man in front of him. “You mean … mine? I thought I was not supposed to jerk off.”

Was this a joke? No, as flustered as Izzy looked, he was dead earnest. And, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he was blushing! If Izzy was blushing, things were serious. 

“That’s kind of the problem here.” Izzy pulled his lips into a firm line as he looked up. “Normally it would be Montgomery’s seed I would use. If he were available to provide it. But you came in contact with the amulet, too, which means … it’s not as good as his, but it’s worth a shot.”

Duff twisted his hands in his lap. Now he knew why Father O’Brian had been adamant that magic was devil’s work. It got people into situations they would rather avoid. 

“All right,” he said. Devil’s work or not, he was in to his neck anyway. “If you think I should do it... I just go and …”

Izzy shook his head and Duff broke off. “I need it within … uhm … two seconds of it … being there.”

“You want me to …” Now Duff was sure that he was being made fun of. 

The faint crimson tint had retreated from Izzy’s cheeks, but now it was back. It suited him, Duff would have admitted if he wasn’t stuck in this most uncomfortable conversation. 

Izzy pulled his shoulders up and let them fall with a sigh. “It’s better like this anyway. ‘because I can stabilize your aura while … it happens.”

“How would you do that?” 

Duff reached for the stone under his shirt. Its soft pulsing had turned into a comforting sensation, a reminder that everything was still working as it should. 

“I would just have to touch you, and then I can use my own to strengthen yours a bit. It’s no miracle, but this once, for such a short burst, it would be sufficient.”

“You mean … you’re going to jerk me off?”

“Oh no!” Izzy shook his head. “No, no, no, you can do it yourself. And I can close my eyes if it makes you feel better, I would just have to … be kind of …close. I mean…” 

For the first time since their discussion had taken this unexpected twist, he was looking directly at Duff. His eyes lit up, and he ran an agitated hand through his hair. 

“Isn’t it what you were paid for?” he asked as if he had suddenly found the perfect solution for their predicament. “I mean, it shouldn’t be that much an issue, should it? You’ve done it before, right?”

“I wasn’t paid to jerk off!” Duff said. Izzy had weird ideas about the professional life of a whore if he thought one could make money that way. “I laid down and had people do stuff to me. Or I opened my mouth and did stuff to them, but it still felt more as if they were doing stuff to me. Most of the time I didn’t even come.”

More like ... never. 

“You didn’t?” For a moment Izzy looked baffled. “You mean, none of your clients bothered to give back to you?”

“They paid me,” Duff said, stressing each word. Was it so difficult to understand? “Or rather Mrs Padget. To use my body, not to have me enjoy myself. Not that anything about it was enjoyable anyway. Most of them preferred it if I didn’t come. Made it easier for them to forget that I was male, too.”

There had been exactly one client who had wanted him to get hard. And had complained because Duff had never been able to. 

“Oh,” Izzy said. “Yes, sorry, that was … insensitive of me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I get that this is asked too much. There’s another line we can try.”

Relieved, Duff sat up straighter. Disaster averted, it seemed. 

“We can dig up the body and get some tissue. That’s not as good as seed, especially as it’s dead and this works much better with something alive, but maybe we’re lucky and …”

“I’ll try,” Duff interrupted him. 

“You’ll do?” Izzy asked, astonished, but by no means disappointed. 

Anything was better than digging up his former clients one by one. Just the idea made him cringe. Maybe he was too squeamish to be a magical investigator’s assistant, and hopefully he would get used to the smell of death and decay, but at the moment he didn’t want to see any more corpses. 

“Can’t promise, but I’ll do my best.”

“Awesome!” Izzy smiled, a little abashed, but he clearly wasn’t keen on digging up bodies either. 

“Where?” Duff looked around. 

“Just …,” Izzy gestured at the bed. “Get comfortable. In the meanwhile, I’ll set everything up.”

‘Get comfortable,’ Duff thought. He hadn’t picked Izzy for an optimist, but one lived and learned.

He kicked off his shoes, settled on the bed, and opened his fly. Then he looked at what lay underneath and his hopes dwindled. Hesitantly he rubbed his palms over his dick, but the result was unsatisfactory. A glance assured him that Izzy was still busy mixing stuff. Right, it was about as much privacy as he would get. He closed his eyes and pretended to be … elsewhere. For half a minute he felt some stiffening, but just when he wanted to follow up on that line of thinking, everything collapsed. Full of despair, Duff looked at the failure in his pants. If he didn’t get his shit together fast, they would have to go and dig up Mr Montgomery. 

“Let’s do this right,” Izzy said and joined him. “Take off your clothes.”

“Take …”

“Come on,” Izzy said, a smile ghosting over his features. “Just do it.” 

He put the dish that contained the magical mixture on the side table, took off his boots, too, and climbed onto the bed while Duff stood up to get undressed. 

“And now?” 

How often had he stood naked in front of some man whose expectations had been far higher than Izzy’s? After a few times, he had stopped getting shy about it, yet here he was, feeling like on that fateful day when he had been sent into his first opulent bedroom on Mr Robinson’s request. 

Izzy pulled up his knees and spread his legs. 

“Come. As I said, I need to touch you anyway.”

Duff crawled onto the bed and sat stiffly between Izzy’s thighs. 

“Close your eyes.”

“That’s what you always say when it gets weird,” Duff mumbled, but he obeyed. 

Izzy snickered. “Not looking makes a lot of things easier.” 

Hands landed on his shoulders. 

“You know I won’t do anything to you. So ... forget I’m here.”

‘Easier said than done,’ Duff thought. He took a deep breath and tried to relax. 

“Just picture … uhm, that girl of yours. Slash said she was pretty.”

“Huh?” Duff opened his eyes and craned his head to look over his shoulder. “You mean Lola? We’re just friends.”

Izzy rolled his eyes. “Then picture Axl, for all I care.”

“Axl?” Duff scrambled to fully turn around, but Izzy wouldn’t let him. 

“You can hardly take your eyes off him whenever he’s in the room.”

“And?” 

He did his best to not blush. Yes, it was true, he liked looking at Axl, but only because he was so … unusual. Beautiful and wild and then there were all these dramatic dresses. Ideas beyond admiring his appearance had never crossed his mind. There were things one didn’t do and thinking of Axl … in that way … belonged into the forbidden category. 

“Just saying. Can we start now? Picture whoever you want. Point is: forget I’m here.”

Duff exhaled with a huff. It was for the best to get this over fast, before Izzy and his ludicrous ideas could kill the last bit of his non-existent mood. He closed his eyes and almost jumped out of his skin when Izzy pulled him flush against his chest. 

“Keep doing that and we’ll never get anywhere,” he muttered. 

His dick was as limp as before, and he gave it another attempt. Gently he moved his hand up and down while he let his mind wander and tried to picture … somebody who was not Axl. The girl he had wildly been in love with for over a month, back home in Ireland, and whose name he hadn’t even known. 

He had seen her no more than once when he had joined his siblings to see the Galway races. Tall and willowy she had stood a few steps away from their group, dark hair escaping out of her braid until there was more outside the ribbon than still held in place. She had behaved very inappropriately, yelling and screaming to cheer on the horse she had been betting on. And cursing like a fishwife when it had looked for a moment as if it would lose.

But it had won, and she had laughed and jumped and thrown her arms around the man next to her. She had looked over his shoulder, right at Duff, dark eyes sparkling with joy. Then she had smiled at him and Duff’s heart had broken a little bit. 

The blood flow quickened in his veins as he remembered. His cock filled, but then he grew a little worried as the emanater pulsed faster. Izzy’s hand moved over his chest, settled on top of the stone and it quieted, its rhythm turning slower than normal. Duff’s heartbeat, however, sped up. 

The image of the girl shifted and for a moment there was Izzy before his eyes, looking up at him from Mr Robinson’s grave, his face full of dirt and Duff had to smile. He forced his mind back to Galway, but Izzy’s presence, his down-to-earth scent, and the soft breath on his nape made it difficult to fully concentrate on her. It didn’t help at all that they were of similar colouring and that Izzy’s eyes could sparkle like hers. And that those rare times when they did, made Duff happy. 

He did manage to stay focussed though. His skin was flushed, his breath came heavier, and then, all of a sudden, there was a hand over his own.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Someone exclaimed, but it was too late. 

“Phew,” the voice said. “That was last minute.”

Duff opened his eyes. Grinning, Izzy held up the little bowl. Then, before he had time to collect his bearings, Izzy pushed him to the side, scrambled off the bed, and all but ran to his workspace. He lit a match and dropped it into the bowl and then, elbows on the table, head propped up on his hands, he stared into the flame. 

Feeling a little forgotten, Duff put on his clothes and sat down on the bed to wait. 

Whatever Izzy was seeing, it had to be fascinating because not once did he look away from the burning dish. It took a frenetic knock at the door, to tear him out of his musings.

“What?” he snapped. 

The door was opened and Axl entered. 

“Anything?” he asked. 

Izzy shrugged. “Maybe a little bit. I think I’ve got an idea.”

Axl nodded. “Can you have a look at Slash? He keeps puking.”

“Hairballs?” Izzy stretched and pulled a face. With one hand he tried to rub a kink out of his neck and with the other he made a swishing move that extinguished the flame. 

“That’s what I thought at first, but he won’t stop.”

“Hm. Did he say anything? Like … did he catch anything unsavoury? Went hunting along the canal, for example?”

“I don’t know.” Axl chewed his lip. “I can’t ask him because he refuses to shift.”

“That’s for the better when he’s sick. Come on, let’s have a look.”

Duff wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow, probably not, but that didn’t keep him from doing it. Axl showed them into the library, where Slash lay rolled up in one of the armchairs. He looked pitiful, his eyes half-closed, his fur dull and shaggy. 

Izzy knelt down in front of him and looked him in the eye. 

“Nod once for yes and two for no,” he said. 

Slash nodded. 

“You touched the damned amulet.”

Nod. 

“I told you not to, but, hey, what do I know about auras and how they work.” He stood up. “I suppose you did it because you were unable to get it into the bag without shifting, right?”

Nod.

“You’ll live.” Izzy pushed his hands in his pockets. “I guess you suffered a bit of damage and the shifting disturbed everything enough to make you sick.”

“Does he have holes in his aura, too now?” Duff asked upset.

“No, he’s magical, he can deal with that. It’s more like … uhm … an upset stomach after eating something rotten.” He looked at Slash again. “Something really rotten. Sleep it off. And don’t shift for at least twelve hours. I think there’s chicken soup in the kitchen. Axl can give you some if you can stomach it.”

Slash didn’t look as if the thought of food held much appeal. 

“You can rest in my bedroom,” Axl said. Gingerly he picked Slash up and carried him out of the library. 

“Don’t look like that,” Izzy said when they were alone. “It will be fine.”

He ran a finger over the books on one of the shelves. 

“You said,” Duff started to keep him from getting lost in his thoughts again, “earlier, I mean, you said you might have found something.”

“What?” Izzy gave him a bewildered look. “Oh that. Yes. Let’s wait for Axl. He’ll read Slash the riot act for being stupid before coming back.”

The riot act couldn’t have taken long because after a few minutes Axl was back. 

“That idiot cat,” he said. “So, what is it? And more importantly, who did it?”

Izzy took a deep breath. “No idea.”

“But you said …”

“Yes, yes.” Izzy ran a hand through his hair. “I have encountered something like this only once in my life. Was up in Scotland. Some lonely little hamlet in the middle of nowhere. Mountains to the left, mountains to the right, peat fires, and a few sheep. We were travelling through and asked for a place to spend the night. We got it, but something felt off.”

“Off, Izzy?” Axl raised his eyebrows. “You’re getting awfully particular, lately.”

“Sorry.” Izzy offered a helpless smile. “Off is the best description I can come up with. I mean, it’s not like we were welcomed with open arms everywhere, but here … People weren’t hostile, more like they didn’t care either way. Places like this, not much happens ever, so at least the children are curious and come looking. Always. There? The people in this village behaved as if they were controlled by some foreign power. I snooped around a bit...”

“Of course you did.”

“... and found this old man living outside, in this little stone house. I felt a strange form of energy around the cottage, one I had never met ever before. Sweet, seductive. Like opium smoke. It pulled you in.”

“And so, you … what? Succumbed to it?”

“Are you crazy?” Izzy cast him an offended look. “I ran back as fast as I could. And at night the good people tried to set fire to the varda. We barely escaped.”

“All right. And that’s helping us how?”

“This spell feels just like that power source.”

“You mean it’s the same person? That old man?”

“No.” Izzy shook his head. “It’s just the same type of magic. I did some research afterwards, because I wanted to be prepared. The next time, you know? Should I ever encounter it again. Because ...” he took a deep breath and the faint blush was back to his cheeks. This time Duff did admit that it suited him. “... it was something I would have loved to succumb to. I needed to be sure that it never got a chance to take me by surprise.”

“Stop talking around and tell me what it is,” Axl said. “It’s not exactly storytime.”

“There is a book,” Izzy said. “‘Manuscripts from the Otherworld’ it is called. It gives you the means to draw magic from different realms and use them in our dimension.”

Axl sat down and picked at the ruffles of his shirt. “Is that even possible?”

“Not without employing some serious amount of dark magic. But it explains why all our usual tactics won’t work.”

“You’ve seen this book?”

Izzy shook his head. “I was too late. But the previous owner ... who had been killed ... messily, I might add ... had kept it in a locked cupboard. It had been broken open and the book was the only thing missing. The case it had been lying in was still vibrating with magic. It had the same feel to it. So, yes, I think this is what we’re dealing with.” 

“Let’s say you’re right and somebody got his hands on this book,” Axl said. “It still would take immense skill to use it. I don’t know of anybody around here who might even come close.”

“No,” Izzy said. “But as far as I know the Irish disease is concentrated in Whittlingsfield. There are a handful of cases in other towns, but the epicentre is here. The amulets are sold here and I bet my ass they’re produced locally. Which makes me think that we have a witch or a wizard who has managed to stay unnoticed. And who is stealing energy to increase his powers.”

“Ugh,” Axl made. “That means …”

“Yes,” Izzy said. “We have to check out the town’s non-magical population.”

Axl rubbed his fingertips over his eyes. 

“And if we find him? Or her? Or it? Would we be powerful enough to bring him down? Or will he bring us down?”

Izzy shrugged. “That’s the next problem. We might have to get our hands on this book, first. Because whatever the spell is, we need to undo it. Somehow.”

“Awesome. I’m sure they’ll have a copy at Chetham’s Library. Fancy a trip to Manchester?”

Izzy smiled for about a second. Then his face turned solemn. “Not tonight.”

Axl stood up. “I’ll look after the puking cat.”

“Do that,” Izzy said. “I’ll catch up on some sleep, too. We all should. I see a ton of work coming our way.”

“Was that a vision?” Axl asked. 

“Just an informed opinion.”

They all went to bed, Axl with Slash, Izzy with his books, and Duff on his own. Sleep, however, eluded him. Black magic. Otherworld. He felt like a fly who had happily crawled onto a sundew plant, not realizing the mistake until it was too late.


	14. A Full Moon

Duff spent the next two days around his old stomping grounds. Slash had recovered but wasn’t keen on any more inquiries. He would happily break into a few other houses, he had informed them, but Izzy should better not expect him to talk to random strangers. 

Equipped with a generous lunch package from Kate, a handful of coins as bribing material from Axl, and words of warnings from Izzy to not, under no circumstances, confront anybody in case he got a lead, he rekindled old acquaintances, put out his feelers and tried to get closer to the source of the amulets.

Lola joined him on his quest and as she knew her ways around Whittlingsfield’s dubious population a lot better than Duff, she managed to connect him to people who otherwhile wouldn’t have given him the time of the day. 

“How about lunch break?” she asked when they returned from yet another fruitless interrogation. 

It was their second day, and she had grown fond of Kate’s cooking. 

“We could go down and watch the ships.”

Duff did her the favour. The harbour was busy as usual. To the one side, boats were moored between the labyrinth of protective quay walls, while inland the church loomed high on its cliff. He had always felt as if it cast a disapproving look down on the general reprobacy that was the port. A schooner lay close by, its rump not in the best condition, its rigging a tangle of ropes. Horse drawn wagons came and went, women offered goods from handcarts, ragged children carried hawker’s try full of rolls, matches or shoelaces, newspaper vendors yelled out the latest scandals and shouting, screaming and laughter lay over all the bustling. 

“What did you get today?” Lola asked when Duff opened his bag. 

“Kidney pies. We had them for dinner yesterday.”

Kate had made a few extra, small and round and perfect to take along on his quest. He handed the first one over. 

“So,” Lola said after she had devoured half of it. “Tell me. How is life in Foxhill. I thought you would spill the beans on your own, but you’re awfully quiet about it.”

“Honestly?” Duff chewed his own pie. It was delicious. “Not so different from anywhere else. Sure, there are these moments, when you go on a hunt for magical amulets, but apart from that? Breakfast, lunch, dinner, taking care of the shop, cleaning the house. They live like everybody else does.”

Lola looked disappointed, and Duff understood her. It was a different world, one that seemed tainted with wickedness, but was fascinating in its foreign ways. She had hoped for juicy details and was receiving mundane reality. But he could hardly dish the dirt about digging up corpses and breaking into people’s houses. 

Izzy hadn’t been happy when he had suggested giving Lola a rundown on what they were doing here. He didn’t trust anybody who wasn’t magical and even among their community he sometimes seemed to be the odd one out. Getting him to see reason had been comparable to pulling splinters out of an open wound. In the end, he had admitted defeat but only because they did need outside help. The problem may be magical, but was rooted in the non-magical world, and here, they were outsiders. 

“Really, Lola,” Duff said. “All they do is try to make a living. Same way we do. Some do better, some do worse, and I guess they have to struggle a bit harder for all those restrictions they have to deal with. But that’s it.”

But he liked how they were all sticking together, Duff had to admit. How they looked out for their neighbours. Even Axl, for all his show of distemper, was at his heart a kind and caring person, who picked up confused old men and allowed a puking cat to sleep in his bed. 

To Duff’s relief, he didn’t have to offer any further explanations and was spared coming up with half-truths. A little boy, about nine or ten, in dirty, torn clothes came running down the main street. 

“Look, there’s Willy Clarkson.” Lola pointed in his direction. “You reckon he’s got something for us?”

They had spread word among the street urchins to keep an eye out for anybody selling more than one or two of the amulets. 

Lola waved, while Willy, panting and sputtering, came to a halt so abrupt, it almost tore the reminders of his soles off his shoes. He grinned revealing two gaps where his eyeteeth were supposed to be, while the remaining set shone unnaturally white in his dirty face. 

“There’s a new delivery,” he said breathlessly. “Behind the stable. Kingswood Street. But you’ve got to hurry.”

“Who is bringing them?” Duff scrambled to his feet. Lola followed, straightening her dress and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Some woman. Not from around here.” 

Willy looked longingly at the half-eaten pie Duff was about to stuff back into his bag. He handed it over instead, and before he had brushed the crumbs off his trousers, the boy had devoured the remains. 

“Come on,” he said. “If you can show us the woman, you’ll get everything I still have left.”

That was enough to spur Willy on. His legs may have been short, but he was quick to scurry around people and carts and fitted through gaps between vehicles or vendor stands. Twice he stopped and waited impatiently after having squeezed through a fence that forced Duff and Lola to climb over. 

“It’s not my fault if she’s gone,” he said after he had shot across the road right before a cab that almost ran Duff over when he tried to follow. The potential loss of food seemed to weigh hard on his mind. 

The stable at Kingswood Street housed mainly hackney horses. It was a long-stretched building, situated between warehouses, and accessed through a wide iron gate. A blacksmith had to be nearby, the beat of metal hitting metal a constant background noise, while the smell of dung and leather saturated the air.

“Around there.” 

Willy pointed down a narrow walkway between the stable and a wheelwright’s shop. 

“Wait here,” he told Lola but knew that she wouldn’t listen. 

If Duff remembered correctly, the walkway was a connection between Kingswood Street and Brisket Alley, but he hadn’t been here often enough to be sure. It wasn’t long, just a few yards past collapsing buildings that had partly been abandoned for the newer ones on the other side of the harbour, but it seemed to be a popular shortcut. Once they all had to press themselves against the wall to let a woman with a steaming pot wrapped in a blanket pass them. A few steps later, somebody led a horse through the narrow passage and didn’t bother to stop to keep it from trampling on their feet. 

“There she is,” Willy whispered when they had reached the end. “Looks like she’s leaving.”

The woman was about forty, Duff estimated, but it was difficult to say. Her hair was hidden under a headscarf. She wore heavy wool skirts and a knitted cardigan that left no more than a vague impression of her figure. The short glance he got on her face wouldn’t help them much either. 

“Willy?” Duff asked. “Do you think you can follow her?” 

Street kids were everywhere and nobody paid them a second glance. 

“I’ll give you three pence, if you try and another three if you can tell me where she’s going to.”

“Six,” Willy said. “And I still get all the pies you’ve got left.”

“Sixpence.” Duff handed over his lunch. 

“Deal.” Willy grinned his toothless grin.

“And be careful. If she spots you, come back right away.”

Willy didn’t look convinced, unwilling to let go of the sixpence success fee. 

“I might have more jobs for you,” Duff wheedled. “If you get yourself killed, it’s not gonna help me any, is it?”

The boy was off, but Duff wasn’t sure his warning had left an impression. 

“And now?” Lola asked. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Duff replied. “At noon. It will take Willy a while to come up with something.”

They said good-bye and he returned to Stakesby Road. 

+++

For the rest of the day, Duff wiped dust in the shop. Slash lounged on the counter, making the best out of a single sunny spot on its polished surface. According to Axl, he should be out and do something useful, instead of being a bratty, spoiled cat that pretended to be convalescent. But Duff suspected he enjoyed the extra pettings he had received since the start of his illness and was not yet ready to let go of such luxuries. 

“It’s a miracle the mice haven’t destroyed our complete stockpile yet,” Axl said while making entries in the ledger. “With how lazy this cat is.”

Slash stretched and rolled onto his back to let the sun warm his belly. In addition, he rewarded the little scratches he received every now and then with purring. Duff loved these moments of domesticity. They always reminded him of home. 

Izzy took the news of the woman with interest, but as they couldn’t do anything about it until Willy came through with more intelligence, he refused to get excited. 

It was after dinner when Duff realized that something was different. Kate was still in the kitchen, baking bread. 

“It’s getting dark,” he said while stacking up the dishes next to the sink and putting on the kettle to heat water. “Shouldn’t you be going home? Maybe somebody can go with you. I mean, it’s pretty late.”

“It’s the full moon,” Kate replied, dividing the dough into loaves. “I always sleep here for it. Or not sleep, to be honest. I can’t sleep when there’s a full moon. So, I bake bread.”

“But I thought you don’t shift.” Duff scraped leftovers into a bucket for Mr Henderson’s pig. 

“I don’t. It’s just a precaution.” 

Duff left it at that. He did the dishes and then tried reading one of the books in the library. It went slowly, but according to Axl, he should make an effort if he didn’t want to stay an uneducated village idiot. Slash had objected that there was nothing wrong with being an uneducated village idiot and Izzy had muttered something about it taking one to know one. 

The end result was the same: Duff was getting the creeps while stumbling through stories written by some man named Poe. He didn’t dare ask again what part was or wasn’t true because the last time Izzy had rolled his eyes in his ‘don’t be stupid, Duff’ way. To be on the safe side, he now simply assumed that everything was true. 

He stayed for the duration of one oil lamp filling. Then he had read enough blood-curdling tales to be scared of his own shadow when he went to bed. 

It was during the early morning hours, when he heard noises downstairs, hurried steps first, then a scream that sounded like Kate’s. Startled, he jumped out of bed and hit his head at the low ceiling. He winced, but didn’t stop to examine the damage, just put on his pants and climbed down the ladder. 

The noises became louder, voices yelled over each other, then there was a bang as if something had toppled over. He followed them to the shop room and opened the door. The others were all there. Axl, female, in his frilly nightgown, with some huge, ruffled cap on his head. His long hair, wrapped around strips of cloth, seemed to be everywhere. Slash, in human form and, thanks to Axl’s spell, fully dressed stood next to him. Izzy, at the front, hair sleep mussed and wearing a long, white shirt, levelled the shotgun. And finally, Kate, with a masked man behind herself and a knife at her throat.

“Put down the gun,” a muffled voice came from behind the mask. 

“All right.” Izzy leant the weapon against the wall and raised his hands. “See? It’s gone. Now let her go.”

The man made a step backwards, pulling Kate with himself. Her eyes were wide with fear, as she clutched feebly at her neck. 

“This is not a good idea,” Izzy said, his voice calm, but with that edge underneath that signified he meant business. “You know where you are, don’t you? And you do know what we are and what you are not? Breaking into this shop was such a stupid idea. But it’s still redeemable. Let the girl go, and you might have a chance to survive. If not … this is Foxhill. You won’t even make it down the road.”

The burglar made another step back, trying to reach the door, but veering off to the right. He kicked over a box, one that, as Duff knew, contained a new shipment of energy marbles. When he stumbled onto it, the box burst open and little glass balls rolled everywhere. The man skidded, fought for hold, and fell, pulling Kate down with him. He tried to get to his feet, skipped again, scrambled on all four, while the marbles lit up around him. 

Axl reacted immediately. He jumped forward, grabbed Kate by her arm and pulled her away. The burglar managed to gain his foothold, ripped the door open, and ran. The marbles, shining in different colours, kept rolling over the floor, into every corner, under shelves and cupboards. It would be hell to get them all back! 

“Let him run,” Izzy said. He carefully scooped tiny glass spheres into the broken box. “He left enough traces here for me to find him anytime I want.”

Then he suddenly stopped in his activity and picked something off the floor. It was a leather strip, Duff noticed, with a pendant attached to it. It gleamed silvery in the dim light the single oil lamp provided. 

“Kate!” Izzy said. “Kate, you’ve got to …”

He made a step back. Kate, Duff noticed, was panting heavily and not from the previous shock. She seemed bigger, her shoulders broader. As he watched, the nose elongated, and her eyes suddenly flashed yellow. It wasn’t like Slash shifting, who fully turned in one quick movement. Each step of the transformation, her fingers growing into claws, fur covering her face, pointy ears rising out of her hair, was happening with agonizing slowness. 

The last steps came to pass lightning fast. Kate dropped to her paws and attacked. Before Duff realized that he was the aim, he was flat on his back. Claws ripped over his skin, pain lanced through his ribs. He struggled and fought, tried to kick and even bite, but the beast was so much stronger. When he thought it was all over, that he would end his life being torn apart by a werewolf, the animal was pulled off his body and replaced by hands. 

“Are you all right?” Izzy’s face appeared in his line of vision, shocked and pale. 

Duff wheezed, trying to find out whether he would live or had just gotten a reprieve before he finished dying. Axl stood behind Izzy, the still smoking shotgun in his hands. The werewolf – Kate, he reminded himself – lay outstretched at his feet. 

“You killed her!” Duff exclaimed, forgetting his own imminent death. 

“No,” Izzy said, while Axl tied the torn leather strip around the monster’s neck. “Only silver bullets can kill her. This won’t take her out for more than a minute.”

Duff felt for his ribs. They were still smarting, and he noticed a tear at his side, about three inches long, as if a knife had sunk in and been pulled downwards. He thanked God that he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. He couldn’t afford any more torn clothes. When he gingerly touched the wound, his fingers came away red. 

“I’m bleeding,” he whispered.

“Where?” Izzy asked alarmed.

He turned Duff onto his side and examined the gash. 

“I don’t think it’s too bad,” Duff said. 

It wasn’t bleeding much, so it couldn’t be overly deep. 

“Dammit!” Izzy exclaimed. “Axl! Antidote. Now.” 

Axl came over, looking at the damage. “We should have a bit of … “He stopped and stared at Duff’s face. “Is he shifting? Why is he already shifting?”

“Lab!” Izzy yelled and then all three of them grabbed him, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him upstairs.

“What about Kate?” Duff asked, but nobody listened. 

Instead, they did their best to tear out his arms, as he was shoved, pulled, and pushed into the laboratory. He protested against the rough treatment, demanded an explanation, but Izzy and Slash just seized him, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him onto the table. Slash climbed on top of him and sat on his legs while Izzy took care of the rest of his body. 

“Hold him down!” Axl said and then something absolutely vile was poured into his mouth. 

Duff tried to spit it out, but Izzy put a hand over his mouth until he swallowed. For a moment, he was sure he would die, but from what remained to be decided. The potion was etching away at his insides, burned his throat, set his stomach on fire, and filled his lungs with ashes. He struggled again, he needed water, had to puke, or maybe cut himself open and flush the poison out, but there were far too many hands on him to succeed. 

Finally, his strength left him. Unable to struggle anymore, he succumbed to the people who were his friends and now did their best to burn him alive. He made out Izzy’s face, looking down through a red tinted haze. Then his vision dimmed more and more until everything turned black.


	15. Chapter 15

When Duff woke up, his body felt like a slab of meat that had spent too much time under a tenderizer. Breathing at least, was possible again. That was by no means a given, considering how his lungs had rejected service only minutes ago. Or hours? 

Hesitantly, not sure if it was a good idea, Duff opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling and noticed soot stains in the white paint here and there. Not that it was a surprise, if Izzy’s experiments had a tendency to blow up. Was he still in the laboratory? 

No. He was lying on something soft, not his own bed, because the ceiling was not right, but somebody else’s. A turn of the head revealed the familiar chaos of Izzy’s room. What was he doing in Izzy’s bed? 

Duff ran his hands over his face and sat up in shock. Stubble. On his chin. Far too much to have been out for just a few minutes. Or hours. He looked down himself in an attempt to make sense of … well, anything. What had they been doing with him? Not only was he lying in Izzy’s bed, if he wasn’t sorely mistaken, he was wearing one of Izzy’s nightgowns. The lack of frills made it unlikely to be Axl’s, and he had his doubts that Slash changed ever out of his everyday attire for those few moments when he wasn’t wearing fur. 

Then, all of a sudden, he remembered, and the gust of memories would have blown him out of his boots had he been wearing any. The burglary, Kate, the attack. He touched his ribs, where her jaws had made impact, and found it still tender. Somebody had wrapped the wound. He could feel the dressing through the shirt. It hurt a bit but not much. Were werewolf bites likely to fester?

Duff decided to get up and find out what had happened when he noticed that he had company. 

“Slash?” 

The cat had lain in Izzy’s uncomfortable chair and was now slowly sitting up. Amber eyes turned on him, unreadable and a little bit skeptic, like on that first day when he had entered _A. Rose’s Herbs and Spices_. 

Slash didn’t grace him with a reply. He left the chair and walked to the door, jumped up, hit the handle with his front paws and escaped through the gap. Confused Duff looked after him. Had he done something wrong? 

It was indeed time to get up and find out. And fetch some water. If he probed around in his mouth, there was still a lingering taste of Axl’s horrible potion. The memory of that stuff was enough to make him gag. Yes, time to find first water and then an explanation. He was about to do that, when the door was fully opened and Izzy entered. 

“You’re awake.” 

He looked as if he had slept in his clothes, and not in a restful way. Hair messy, face unshaven, bags under his eyes, expression as unreadable as Slash’s had been, he stood in the doorway. Now Duff was sure that something was wrong. 

‘Werewolf,’ he thought. He had been bitten by a werewolf. 

“Am I a werewolf now?” he asked, unable to keep his heartbeat from going through the roof. He felt for the emanater and realized that it was pulsing faster, too. 

“No.” 

Duff sagged in relief. Then why did Izzy behave as if he was? Finally, he came over, but his steps were careful, as if he expected an attack any moment. And when he sat down on the corner of the bed, his face was solemn. 

“It was a close call, but we were fast enough. Axl mixes antidotes against the most current transformations and he has spent a lot of time finding ways to keep them from spoiling too fast. That was your luck because it meant we had the potion ready for use. It was all a bit … tight.”

“So, I was lucky?” Duff asked. His heartbeat calmed down, but the emanater refused to follow suit. 

“Yes.” Izzy picked at his fingernails. “Will you press charges?”

“What?” Duff asked confused. “You mean, against the burglar? Can’t you do it yourself? Because he was non-magical? Would it be better if I did it?”

Something really had to be changed within this society, if their origin made it difficult for them to bring a thief to justice. 

“I mean against Kate.” 

“Kate?” Why would he want to report Kate? 

Izzy looked at him, his face a mask of calmness. Something was off, though. Very off. A few days ago, Duff wouldn’t have noticed but by now he knew who he was dealing with. Izzy’s eyes were a touch too wide, his lips a little bit too thin, his shoulders a tad too stiff. He was nervous, Duff realized. No, not nervous. Terrified. 

“It was an accident,” he exclaimed. “And not even her fault. I mean, some asshole breaks into the shop and pulls the amulet off her neck. The … the …,” what had it been called?

“The lupius,” Izzy helped out. 

“Yes, that one. So, what’s she supposed to do when there’s a full moon? Miraculously not shift?”

“So, you won’t press charges?” Izzy asked, as if he hadn’t declared just that in his heartfelt manifesto.   
“No!” Duff would have yelled if his throat weren’t so dry. Instead, he started coughing. 

Izzy stood up and filled a glass with water from a jar on the dresser. 

“Drink,” he said and handed it over. “You’ve been out for more than a day.” 

Duff’s hand trembled, but he managed. More than a day! No wonder he was feeling like a chicken on the butcher’s block. After the axe had done its job. 

Izzy had returned to the corner of the bed, but while his posture was less rigid, he looked by no means reassured. 

“Thank you. We are in your debt,” he mumbled, and of all the things he could have said, this was the one to take the cake. 

“Oh yes!” Duff put the glass away. Holding an outraged speech was a lot easier when one’s tongue wasn’t sticking to the roof of the mouth. “Because you gave me a job. And a home. And … and …,” a family he wanted to say, but that was a bit presumptuous. He knew these people for all of seven days. One of which he had spent unconscious. It might feel like that to him, but he shouldn’t assume they felt the same way about him. “And food and a place to sleep,” he added instead. 

“You were bitten by a werewolf,” Izzy said, as if that cancelled out anything, they might ever have done for him. 

“By accident!” Duff insisted.

Did they take him for such a shallow being? An ungrateful lout? Malicious bastard? That he would get Kate into trouble about a misstep that wasn’t her fault? After all the tiny pies she had made for him? Had he left such a bad impression that they thought him capable of blaming her for being assaulted and forced to shift? When shifting was what she tried so hard to avoid? 

“We are not allowed to have accidents.”

Duff was about to call him a stubborn oaf, but something held him back. It was not stubbornness he read on Izzy’s face, or arguing for the sake of arguing. His eyes had turned softer, and he had stopped biting his lip, but the whole picture still wouldn’t make sense. He tried to put a finger on it, but it took him an eternity because the emotion he came up wasn’t one he had thought him capable of. 

Humbleness. Izzy was grovelling. In front of him. Because he thought he had to. To keep him from destroying Kate’s life. 

“Izzy,” Duff whispered dismayed, all righteous belligerence gone from him. “You didn’t really think…”

Duff couldn’t help it. He wrapped his arms around him. For a moment all he encountered was rigidity, but then Izzy took a shuddering breath and … collapsed. His head rested on Duff’s shoulder, and he didn’t complain when Duff started stroking over his messy hair. 

“You did, you idiot.”

Izzy sat up. He chuckled a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not yet. 

“It would have been your right,” he said. At least the fear behind his words was gone. 

“It would have been my wrong,” Duff corrected. “Like the others told you. Slash and Axl.”

He expected Izzy to laugh at that comment, admit that he had been overreacting, had allowed his imagination to run wild, but he didn’t. Instead, he eyed his fingertips again. 

“They did tell you, right?” Duff probed. “That you were worrying about nothing?”

Izzy heaved a sigh. “Axl has been berating me all day that it was my fault. That I should never have allowed a non-magical into our house. And Slash has resorted to staying a cat, in case he had to make a swift exit.”

Duff slumped against the headboard. He felt as if somebody had punched a hole into him and now the filling was trickling out. Izzy watched him. His face, at least, was returning to its normal, unperturbed state. 

“You’re all idiots,” Duff finally said, trying to make light of the affair. It still hurt. He had thought they trusted him. 

Izzy allowed himself a lopsided grin. “We’re doing our best to be patient with your stupidities,” he said. “Maybe cut us a bit of slack now and bear with ours?”

“I suppose I can do that.” Duff smiled, a little mollified. It was true. He hadn’t been a paragon of sensitivity around them either. They all needed a bit more time to grow together, he supposed. 

“It’s a bit complicated,” Izzy went on. “Kate doesn’t know, but werewolves are not tolerated in Whittlingsfield.”

“Not at all? She said, werewolves under control were allowed.”

“That’s the rule in Foxhill. The administration has a different opinion. We didn’t want to scare her. She was a child when it happened and living in fear all the time … We didn’t want to do that to her. Which is why she’s got a sanitized version. Anyway. Axl pulled in a few favours. And we both had to vouch for her. It’s the reason why we keep her close. Especially during full moon. Because she can’t afford a single misstep. And not only her. We’d be held responsible, too.”

He breathed out heavily and buried his face in his palms. Duff almost hugged him again. 

“What just happened to you … That you were bitten … It’s what we vowed would never happen.”

“Because you’re what?” Duff asked. “God?”

Izzy looked up and finally, the smile did reach his eyes, if barely. “I thought we were spawns of the devil.” 

Duff shrugged. “Yes, you are. But that’s not your fault either. I mean, neither of us chooses how we are born do we?”

Izzy cast him a disapproving look. “You really believe this, do you?”

Duff shrugged again. “It’s what the church says, and, dunno, but aren’t they always right? Because they have studied all these things? Not that it matters because it makes no difference. I may not be good at doctrine, but I know good people when I meet them. And you are. Because, really, wanna know what I would have done in your situation?”

“What?”

“If I had been scared somebody might rat me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, and destroy my life over it, and that person had been lying unconscious in my bed … and why I am in your bed anyway? And why am I wearing your shirt? And, anyway, I would have killed him and dumped the body out in the ocean.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” 

“Probably not. But you could have. And you didn’t. Which makes you good people.”

“You’re in my bed because you are quite unwieldy,” Izzy said, obviously not willing to advance further into theological territory. Maybe he wasn’t any better versed in matters of religion than Duff was. “We didn’t feel like dragging you up the ladder. And because somebody needed to have an eye on you. And you’re wearing my nightshirt because we couldn’t find yours.”

“That’s because I don’t own one.” 

Really, he wouldn’t waste money on clothes that were only worn when nobody was seeing them. 

“That explains the issue. Right. You hungry? Kate has been stress baking all day. And she cooked galleons of soup. We have started handing food out to random people passing by.”

Duff listened to his stomach, which made a rumbling noise at the mention of nourishment. 

“I think I could,” he said. Then he noticed that the emanater was still pulsing too fast. “I think something might be wrong with my amulet.” He put the hand to where it was hidden under Izzy’s nightshirt. “It’s so …fast.”

Izzy’s face turned sombre again. 

“There has been a problem. You shouldn’t have started to shift so fast. Normally it takes a day or two for the transformation to start. For some it takes several lunar circles before they go through the first round. We are not sure, but I suppose that the emanater created some sort of … echo effect, if you want. It jumbled everything. And when you started to transform, the increased energy flow ripped your aura.”

“What?” Duff exclaimed. “I’m dying? Again?”

“No!” Izzy hastened to reassure him. “No. But … there’s a fissure. Big enough that I can see it. And you’re leaking more and the amulet has to work harder to pump everything back. Without it you would be dead, yes. Or we would have let you go through the transformation because that might have saved you. To be honest, for a moment I was considering it.”

Duff gave him a disbelieving look. “You considered letting me be turned into a werewolf?” 

Maybe he should retract his statement about good people. 

“I considered that I might have to,” Izzy replied. 

Duff was relieved to see his stern ‘don’t be stupid’ expression again. He was getting rather fond of it and preferred it the picture of self-deprecation he had been treated to earlier. 

“To save your life. And maybe you’ll eventually wish I had done it because solving this issue has just turned more urgent than before.”

“Would it help if I wore a second one?” Duff fiddled with the stone under his … no, Izzy’s … shirt. Would he be allowed to keep it? It was a nice shirt, all soft on his skin, with a comforting scent to it. He might just forget to give it back. 

“No. For now the one you have is holding up. But … sorry, yes, none of this should have happened.”

Duff agreed. Only Izzy was putting the blame at the wrong doorstep. They had to track down the burglar for that. 

“You feel up for an outing to the kitchen to eat, or do you want to stay where you are?”

“Kitchen,” Duff decided after brief contemplation. “Where are my clothes?”

He dressed and Izzy walked him down as if he was convalescing from some kind of deadly disease. But, yes, almost transforming into a werewolf came close, he supposed. 

“What time is it?” he asked, when they found the kitchen deserted, safe for a huge pot simmering on the stove and about half a dozen loafs of bread on the counter. The smell that greeted him, rich and spicy, was heaven. Living in a herb shop had its benefit, there was always something condimental to add to the dishes. 

“Around two. Sit.” 

Duff lowered his behind onto the bench, but shot up almost instantly. 

“Two? I promised Willy to be at the port around noon!” But then he sank down in defeat. “Yesterday.”

“We will find the boy.” Izzy put a bowl of soup and a spoon in front of him and took a seat at an angle to his. “I don’t think you would even make it into town without a bit of sustenance first.”

Duff had to agree. His knees were shaky after the exertion of walking down one staircase. His hands, it turned out, too. The spoon emptied itself before he managed to raise it to his mouth. It was frustrating because whatever he delivered to the intended location, was delicious. There was chicken swimming in broth, potatoes and a conglomerate of cut up vegetables, all sprinkled with tiny green leaves and a touch of pepper that prickled on his tongue after each mouthful. 

“Let me…,” Izzy said after half a dozen attempts and reached for his hand. 

For a moment Duff feared he was about to try and feed him, but Izzy’s finger just rested lightly against his for a few seconds while he concentrated on something invisible. Some sort of wizard stuff again.

“Now try.”

Duff dunked the spoon into the soup, lifted it and marvelled at his steady hand. 

“How did you do that?” Amazed he moved the spoon up and down. 

“No need to let your food grow cold, just to admire my handiwork.” Izzy sounded amused. 

“Can you heal people?” Duff slurped soup between the words.

“No. All I can do is pull out … hm … some minor issues. Pain, fatigue. Things like that. And only for a short while. Very few people know about this, so keep it to yourself.”

“Why? If I was able to do something like that, I’d be so proud, I’d tout it all over town. 

Izzy lifted his own hand, trembling and unsteady. “As I said, won’t keep for long. So, eat your soup before the shakes return to you.”

“Does that mean…,” Duff took another spoonful. “If you pull the pain out of somebody, you’ll feel that, too?”

“Comes with the trade, I suppose. I reckon you get why I don’t want to make a spectacle out of it? It’s of no real help to anybody, but people will still be all over me to do it.”

“You shouldn’t have done it this time either,” Duff said. “It would have taken me a bit longer to finish my meal, that’s all.”

“It’s all right.” Izzy smiled a little, but his eyes were absent, as if chasing after fond memories. “I used to do it all the time.”

“But you just said nobody knows.”

“Not here. When I was still travelling.”

Duff looked at him expectantly, hoping for another story. What Axl had told him so far left a lot of gaps, and he was just as curious as every other normal human being. Or maybe a bit more, if he was honest. It was the reason why he was always stumbling into disaster. 

Izzy’s mind seemed to wander again, but when he noticed Duff staring, he snorted.

“I know Axl told you about London,” he said, his expression that of a grandfather indulging the little ones with a story at the fireplace. 

Duff nodded. 

“Good because I prefer to skip that part.” He looked to the side while he collected himself. “I was eight. I think. My memories are a bit hazy. There are huge gaps. But I think I was eight.” He nodded to himself. “I was walking down some country road. I can’t tell you how I got there. It was more than a week after … the events, and I don’t know what I did in between, but apparently, I managed to get out of town.”

Duff continued to eat soup, not only because he was hungry, but also because he wanted to give Izzy time to come to terms with what he was telling. 

“Then there was this man on a varda. Not one of those beautiful wagons full of carvings and colours. It was plain and old and the mare was way past her spring, too. And her summer, if I am honest. He slowed down next to me and asked if I needed a ride. I said ‘no’, and he said, no problem, he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. But if I changed my mind, all I needed to do was tell. Then he drove on right next to me. I guess the horse didn’t mind walking as slowly as a little kid. At least she didn’t complain. Eventually I said yes. And that’s how I met Mr Stradlin.”

Duff startled. “You took on his name?” he asked. Just like Axl had taken on old Miss Agatha’s. Maybe that was why they felt this close kinship. Their stories may different, their characters even more diverse, yet they did cross in enough areas to form a solid web. 

“I don’t remember my name,” Izzy said. “He asked for it and I said it was ‘Izzy’. That might be a nickname or even somebody else’s name. I mean, it’s a girl’s name, right? I do know that I had a sister because sometimes I see her face. Maybe it was hers. I also do remember my parents. Their faces, and few scenes. Like when I told them that we had to leave town because everybody would die. And I do see … that. But not as a memory. Only in my dreams. Means, I can’t be sure what did happen and what is made up.”

“That’s horrible,” Duff said, but Izzy only shrugged.

“It might be for the better. Anyway. Mr Stradlin. He was a fortune teller. He did have a bit of a magical gift, but not much. Most of it was made up.” Izzy smiled fondly at the memory. “You could say, we were scamming people left and right.”

Duff tried to feel indignant about the confession, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The man had taken in an orphaned child and apparently treated him well enough to be remembered lovingly. In his opinion, that made him a good man. 

“I was about ten when we settled in Whittlingsfield. He thought that little Izzy needed a bit of stability and some help in developing his abilities. Because that was the time when they started to come in. And Whittlingsfield had the reputation of being quite lenient with its magical population. Which is true. We follow the rules, they leave us alone. Mostly. So, yes, this was a good place to settle down.”

He still pulled a face, as he always did when the administration was mentioned. 

“But over the summer, we took off again. To make some money. And when I was about fifteen or so, I noticed that I could pull ailments to myself for a short moment.” He laughed. “So, we produced some miracle drink. Mainly cheap gin with a few herbs added for extra disgusting taste. Wherever we went, be it a fair or just market day in some village, we would sell it around the end of our stay. Offer somebody a try in secret, and I would touch them while handing over the glass. Instant relief. Would always sell about a dozen bottles more when the secret was whispered aorund on the quiet.”

“That’s …,” Duff started. 

Scamming people out of their hard-owned money by promising them relief for pains was absolutely unacceptable. So why did he have to laugh when he thought about Izzy pulling off this kind of skulduggery.

“And then we had to make sure we were off before anybody noticed that it wasn’t keeping for long.”

“You’re evil,” Duff said. 

“But you knew that from the beginning!” 

Izzy looked lighthearted, the memories of the old scammer who had adopted him clearly happy ones. 

“I’m a devil’s spawn, after all.”

He stood up. “Eat as much as you want. And then you should see Kate. She has cleaned your bedroom and washed and ironed all your clothes. And she would like to know which sort of pie was your favourite because she promised to bake you one as soon as you woke up.” 

“Apple,” Duff said. “And thank you.”

“What for?” Izzy asked surprised. 

“For telling me.”

Confused, Izzy frowned at him. 

“About yourself. Really. I appreciate that.”

Izzy shook his head. “You’re weird, Duff, you know that? You always latch on the wrong things.”

‘No,’ Duff thought while finishing his meal. He was pretty sure that he was latching on exactly the right things.


	16. Chapter 16

After the meal, Duff felt a lot better. Good enough, in fact, to get some work done. When he met the others, they all eyed him a little sheepishly as if they expected him to spontaneously burst into flames, but when he went upon his day as if nothing had happened, things normalized. 

Get bitten by a werewolf, rupture your aura in the process of almost transformation, lie around unconscious for a few days - just the stuff you did before breakfast at Foxhill. Yes, he decided, that was the way to deal with the issue. But he started to fear that Lola might have had a point. Being the only non-magical person between wizards, werewolves and shapeshifters was not without danger. 

Izzy had vanished once more, taking care of some wizard business that had nothing to do with their case. Duff almost felt cheated out of his assistant rights. Almost. For a change he wasn’t keen on toppling into the next adventure. An afternoon of sorting through Axl’s supplies had a relaxing quality to it, and digging out corpses couldn’t compete. 

At dinnertime, his housemates seemed content that no sudden combustion was forthcoming and stopped treating him with kid gloves. Duff was relieved. Axl saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ had started to make him nervous. 

They had more soup and more bread and would likely eat it for days to come. Axl, male, his waistcoat embroidered with enough gold thread to pay off the national debt, informed them about the latest societal tidings depicted in the newspaper. The pie was delicious and everybody was happy and sometimes a little giddy, as people tended to be when a disaster had been averted. 

Stomach warm and full, Duff was stacking plates, when the door opened and Izzy appeared, and with Izzy present, peace and quietude were things of the past. 

Slash jumped up. He let out a shrill shriek and fled to the farthest corner of the kitchen. His curls, voluminous at normal times, were standing upright. 

“A dog!” His voice squeaked with agitation. “You’re bringing a dog into the house?”

Axl let the newspaper sink. “What dog? Did you get into the catnip again?”

“Calm down.” Izzy closed the door behind himself. “He won’t bite you.”

Now Duff spotted the dog behind his feet. He was tiny. The tiniest dog he had ever seen in his life. He would easily have fitted into a lady’s purse, but no lady with an ounce of self-esteem would have allowed herself to be seen with this dog. His fur – if it could be called that because except for some tufts of hair on his ears and the tip of his tail, he looked bald – was of a dull grey-beige colour. Uneven black spots added to the ugliness. The eyes were too big for his head and one of his canines poked out of his muzzle. 

“Why are you dragging a dog in here?” Slash demanded again. 

“He’s a guard dog.” Izzy climbed over one of the benches, sat down and reached for a piece of leftover bread. “We can use one. We can’t rely on our resident werewolf to be around and confront burglars, can we?”

Axl craned his head to inspect the dog who had lain down on one of Izzy’s feet. He looked hungry, Duff thought, and refilled one of the bowls with soup. They had enough of it to open a pauper’s kitchen, they could offer some to a hungry dog. 

“What’s his name?” he asked, while the tiny creature dived headfirst into the bowl. 

“Dog.” Izzy chewed his bread, but passed when he was offered soup. 

“He needs a name,” Duff said. 

“Then give him one.” 

For Izzy the topic seemed to be over. He pulled the newspaper towards himself and started reading. 

“Hector,” Duff decided. “We will call you Hector.”

Axl snorted. “You’ve got to feed him a lot more than soup if you hope he grows into that name.”

“Ehm,” Slash made. “I don’t think he will stay long enough for us to name him.”

Izzy let the newspaper sink and squinted over the top. 

“Get used to each other,” he said. 

“Where did you even find him?” Axl asked. 

“On a pile of waste.”

“That figures,” Slash muttered, but he joined them at the table again. Hesitantly, he sat down looking as if he wanted to pull his feet up onto the bench. Hector growled, but stopped when Izzy nudged him gently with his foot and resumed licking up soup. 

“That beast is dangerous,” Slash said. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Izzy agreed. “He’ll eat you for breakfast. Hell, Slash, even as a cat you’re bigger than him.”

Duff resumed his seat. “Is he a magical dog?” 

“Yes.”

Unlike Slash, he had always been fond of dogs,. This may not be an overly fine specimen but it would surely be fun to have him around. Hector, unimpressed by the drama his presence created, was done with his bowl of soup and now took a tour of the kitchen. Slash didn’t let him out of his line of vision.

“What can he do?”

Izzy had returned to the paper, but now he let it sink, folded it and put it aside with the air of a man who had hoped for a quiet evening after a hard day in the factory, and was instead assaulted by a bunch of lively children. 

“How should I know? We don’t speak the same language.”

Hector was done with his exploration and returned to Izzy’s feet. 

“We’ll get him a basket in the shop room,” he said. 

“Sure!” Axl tossed his hands up in the air. “Leave a dog alone at night in a room full of magical items. Brilliant idea, Izzy, among the better ones you’ve had recently. Is he even housetrained?”

“How should I know?” Izzy was getting upset, too. “Why is everybody asking me questions? I just found him in a heap of scraps.”

“Then he’s not sleeping in the shop.” Axl glared at him. “I’m not wiping up dog pee first thing every morning. He can sleep in the corridor. And if he pees into the house, I’ll drag you out of bed by your skinny arms.”

“No!” Slash’s hair seemed to rise another inch. “You can’t let him roam free. Get him a cage.”

“You know what?” Izzy crossed his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t care. Sort this shit out among yourselves. ‘cause the dog stays. In the meanwhile, I’ve got some tracking to do. Where are the marbles?”

“In the laboratory,” Axl said. “Did you patch up the map?”

He didn’t seem to be against Hector’s arrival per se, just worried about the contents of his shop. Duff admitted, he had a point. He knew the type of mischief dogs could get into if left to their own devices. The idea of one amusing himself with all the weird stuff stored in there, was scary. 

“Yes.”

“The last time he burned a hole into it,” Slash said. 

“And I repaired it and redrew it, didn’t I?” Izzy sounded a bit sour. “Duff, you want to see how it’s done?”

Of course, Duff wanted to see how it was done. He followed Izzy up to the laboratory, Hector on their heels.

“We need to make a plan about how to find this book!” Axl yelled after them. 

“Yes, yes,” Izzy muttered under his breath. 

He didn’t seem overly anxious to work on unearthing this extra magical tome, but Duff agreed with Axl. If they wanted to undo the spell, they should focus on the book, not on hunting burglars. And for personal reasons, the issue was extra dear to his heart and his depleting energy level. 

“How do you know that he’s a guard dog?” he asked when they were climbing up the staircases. 

“It’s obvious form his aura.”

Of course, it was. 

“Are there going to be any explosions?” Duff asked when they reached the laboratory. 

Izzy gave him a dark look. “What’s with you and all the questions tonight?”

“Just… because … Slash said … it burned last time,” he stuttered. 

“It won’t this time.” 

Duff picked up Hector to keep him from ingesting toxic substances. He was so small, he comfortably fitted into the crook of his elbow. Maybe he could sleep in his bedroom, if Axl didn’t want him in the shop.

Izzy pulled a roll of paper out of one of the cupboards and spread it over the table. 

“This is the most detailed map I have ever seen,” Duff whispered and looked at the intricate drawings of streets, houses and trees. Little waves marked the ocean, rivers were blue, pastures green and there was the church in a perfect miniature sketch. 

The repaired patch was a bit to the left, neatly cut out, the new piece of paper that had been glued under the hole a few shades lighter than the slightly yellowed map.

“Let’s hope our burglar lives in Whittlingsfield,” Izzy said. “Then we can track him down to the house he’s living in. I’d love to have more detailed maps of the surrounding areas, too, but it takes a lot of time to draw them.”

“You made this yourself?” Duff asked. “It’s awesome.”

Izzy smiled a little. He did like being praised for his work, Duff noticed, even if he always did his best to brush it off. 

“They are for sale, sometimes, but the result is better if you draw them yourself and finetune them to your personal brand of magic,” he said. “If you buy them, you never know how precise they are. And if you end a mile next to your location, that’s a nuisance.”

He took the box of marbles off a shelf and set it onto the table. They were still glowing in all their different colours. 

“That guy must have one hell of a headache, with how much energy he left us,” Izzy said.

“It will be worse when he gets it back,” Duff said, remembering the sharp pain when Axl had returned the energy from a single marble to his aura. Like that one time his older siblings had dared him to swallow a handful of snow. 

“His own fault.”

Izzy took a red glowing one and dropped it into a ceramic dish. Then he opened what looked like a small jewellery case and retrieved a silver pendulum on a delicate chain. He let it swing over the bowl, whispered a few words, and the light jumped as a tiny lightning out of the marble and into the pendant. 

Letting the chain dangle from one finger, he moved it over the map, starting at the upper left corner and working himself systematically to the lower right one. He was about three thirds done, when the pendulum suddenly pulled downwards.He followed until the tip touched the map. Now one of the neatly drawn houses was glowing red. Izzy watched it for half an eternity, but when it started to smoke, he quickly extinguished the spark with his hand. 

“Looks like we’ve got a destination,” he said. 

“And now?” Duff eyed the scorched mark on the map. 

Izzy smirked. “Tomorrow we’ll pay him a visit.”

“You won’t…,” Duff hesitated. “What are you going to do when you find him?” 

“Submit him to unspeakable torments, of course,” Izzy replied. “Before I turn him into a toad. To make his outer appearance match his inner one.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Duff did his best not to pout. 

“Then stop being stupid. I want to talk to him. He wasn’t one of us, so why was he breaking into our shop? Axl’s goods aren’t of any use to him.”

“Money?” Duff suggested while he scratched Hector behind his ears. The dog had fallen asleep and snored softly into his sleep. 

“And risk Foxhill for that?” Izzy shook his head. “Whittlingsfield is full of non-magical shops. No, he was after something specific. I want to know what and why.”

“When are we going?” 

Izzy looked as if he wanted to argue again. 

“I’m well,” Duff said before he managed to open his mouth wide enough to utter his usual nonsense about potential danger. “And this is non-magical territory. I might be of help.”

Izzy closed his mouth. Then he opened it again. “You’re right,” he said to Duff’s astonishment. “I have to meet Foxhill council tomorrow morning. They have some … uhm … questions about Kate’s transformation.”

“They know?” Duff asked. 

“Just our luck.” 

Izzy rolled the map up and put it away. Then he poured the rest of the marbles into a linen bag. 

“Somebody saw light, looked through the window and noticed her lying there before she had fully shifted back. While we were upstairs, saving you from a fate worth than death, I suppose.”

“I thought people were asked to stay in at night. Because of the vampires.”

“And do people listen?” He sighed. “Anyway, somebody ratted us out and I have to give an explanation.”

“What will they do?” Duff asked, Izzy’s previous despair still sharp in his memory. 

“Hold a long speech about risk and responsibility and send me home with a slap on my fingers. Don’t worry. They are always fussy. But they also need me to do the dirty work for them. Means I can make some demands. And one of those is that Kate stays with us.”

Duff got the feeling that Izzy wasn’t dealing well with administrations of any type, no matter whether they were magical or non-magical. 

“We’ll leave after lunch.” He returned the pendulum to its case and locked it into a drawer. 

“I’ll be ready,” Duff said. That would give him enough time to search for Willy until noon and find out if he had managed to follow the ominous woman. 

+++

The next morning found Hector in a blanket lined basket in one corner of the shop. He lay on his back, legs stretched out to reach his most possible length, treating Axl’s clientele to his naked, dotted belly and his, for such a tiny dog, generously sized genitals. 

So far, Hector had behaved well, hadn’t peed anywhere and had abstained from molesting the resident cat. If anything, he was unimpressed by Slash’s presence. He probably thought he had won, but Duff wasn’t sure the last word had been spoken, yet. 

Slash, on the other hand, sat on the counter, fur not fully ruffled, but far from being smooth, eying the enemy full of suspicion. 

“Will you two ever get along?” Duff asked while putting on his boots. 

Slash gave him an indignant look, not considering the question important enough to warrant shifting.

“I’m off to the port. When Izzy comes back, tell him I’ll be here in time, will you?”

He didn’t get a reply. Duff sighed. Sometimes Slash was more difficult than Axl.

As if thinking his name had been enough to make him appear, the door was opened and Axl shoved a boy inside. 

“You’ve got a visitor,” he snapped. “Although I don’t know why your visitors are sneaking around in the backyard. And why do we have a guard dog if he doesn’t do any guarding? He’s about as useless as the cat.”

He glared at Hector, who seemed to have grown even longer. In addition, he let his tongue loll out of his mouth.

“Willy!” Duff stopped tying his laces. “I was just about to look for you.”

“You owe me nine pence,” Willy said instead of a greeting. He raised his chin defiantly, as if he expected Duff to cheat him out of the agreed price. 

“I do. And I’ll pay. What did you find out?”

“This is your spy?” Axl asked. 

“Yes,” Duff said and Willy grew an inch. 

“Give him some soup. If we can feed it to the mutt, we can surely feed it to your … ehm … master of intelligence, here.”

Axl was having a male streak, third day in a row, and it was putting him into an extraordinary good mood.

The mention of food was enough to take the tension out of Willy’s little body. He followed Duff into the kitchen and didn’t complain when bread was added to his meal. 

“Why didn’t you come as promised?” he asked after a first few spoons full. 

“I was sick,” Duff replied, while the boy slurped chicken broth. “What did you find out?” 

“I followed her all the way to Adlington Grove,” he said. “That’s damned far.”

“It is,” Duff agreed.

Adlington Grove was the most elegant quarter Whittlingsfield had to offer. Whoever lived at Adlington Grove had either money or a generous credit grantor. The woman, however, hadn’t looked like either was the case. 

“Can you show me the house she returned to?”

Willy shook his head. “Some man stopped me. Took my arm and squeezed it real hard. I bet I got bruises.” 

Duff knew the boy wasn’t squeamish, but he understood where this was leading. He might not have followed the woman to her final destination, but he still wanted to receive his six pence success bonus by turning it into grievance payment. 

“Wanted to know what I was doing,” he continued through a mouthful of bread. “When he let me go, the woman was gone.”

Willy watched him anxiously over the rim of the bowl he was licking clean. 

“Still, good job,” Duff said. He crammed the promised nine pence out of his pocket and handed them over. “Now that this is out of the way: How did you find me?”

“Lola knew the street. Said something about a spice shop, too. Wasn’t that difficult.”

“And why were you sneaking around in the backyard?”

“This is Foxhill,” Willy whispered, as if he was giving away a big secret. His eyes darted towards the door, checking for eavesdroppers. “I thought … I mean … they might have killed you or locked you into the cellar or … dunno. People here are … that man, is he supernatural?”

‘The cat is, too. And the dog,’ Duff wanted to whisper back. 

“That man just gave you a meal and the money is coming out of his pocket, too,” he said sternly, as if he hadn’t reacted exactly like Willy a few days ago. 

He cringed internally, when he thought about all the nonsense he had uttered. And still kept spewing, if Izzy was to be believed. But it wasn’t easy to have one’s whole worldview taken apart. 

Willy didn’t seem to have such qualms. He couldn’t afford them. “You think he will give me another piece of bread?” 

Duff stood up and got him one. 

“I’ve never been to Foxhill before. I thought it was more exciting.”

‘And I bet you almost peed your pants coming up,’ Duff added mentally. “It isn’t,” he said aloud. 

Willy looked as if he wanted to ask more questions but Axl entered, and he fell silent. 

“Adlington Grove,” Duff said. 

Axl pulled a face. “That makes it difficult. Not exactly a place where we can just knock at doors and ask nosy questions. You’re done, kid?”

Willy nodded and stood up. For a moment he hesitated, but then he pulled his ratty cap and offered a toothless grin. 

“And thank you, sir. If you ever need a spy again, I’m your man.” 

Axl snorted. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

In the end, Duff decided to have Willy show him where he had lost the woman, but his hopes that they might spot her on the street, were futile. 

Adlington Grove, however, was a very nice quarter and even nobler than the one Mr Montgomery had resided in. Large houses, sprawling gardens and a lush park where the ladies and gentlemen enjoyed some fresh air. As it was an overcast day and it had been drizzling all morning, not many of the fine lords and ladies were risking their silks, though.

Duff soon realized that they fit in as well as Hector would at a gundog show, and as he didn’t want to be late for burglar tracking, he returned to Stakesby Road. 

+++

Izzy’s reaction to the newest development was as underwhelmed as Axl’s had been.

“Adlington Grove?” he said, while he dropped his hat onto the shop’s counter. “That’s … unfortunate.”

“You mentioned when you were confronted with this type of magic for the first time, you could feel it all over the place,” Duff said, after he had delivered the hat to its hook. “Maybe if we just walk around you can sense something, too. Without interviewing people.”

“That’s not the problem,” Izzy leant against the small table Duff used when sorting marbles or bagging ominous powders. “Adlington Grove is prohibited area. Magical people are only allowed there with a written permit. And we have to wear outer identification. Means, just strolling around and hoping for the best is … risky.”

“More than risky,” Slash said. 

He had resorted to being human, as it seemed to make it easier for him to deal with Hector’s presence. 

“You’re banned from the whole area?” Duff asked, sure he must have misunderstood. “Why?”

“Because people there are filthy rich and scared that we might utilize nefarious methods to cheat them out of their well-deserved wealth,” Izzy said. 

“They are not the only ones who tried this,” Axl added. “But so far they are the only ones who succeeded. Especially the request for visible identification comes up again and again.”

“Visible identification? Like what, holding up a sign that says ‘magical’?”

“Actually, it’s a red armband. So, you see why I’m not keen on doing it. Chances are high that you will be stopped and while you might get away with saying that, sorry, you completely forgot to paint the mark of Cain onto your forehead, you will not get away with sauntering through Adlington Grove without a permit.”

“That …” Once again, Duff was out of words. “And you really think Whittlingsfield’s regulations are lenient?”

“Oh yes!” Izzy and Axl said in unison. 

Slash nodded his agreement. “Maybe now you understand why I prefer being a cat.”

+++

After lunch, they left to find the burglar. Duff carried the linen bag full of marbles while Izzy led the way. It was a truly practical ability to never get lost, not even in the labyrinth of little streets between high hedges they were now navigating. 

Eventually they ended in front of a small croft, one of those where men and animals lived together in a single room and where the chimney never worked properly. During winter, water ran down the walls, and mould grew on the ceiling like a blue-green carpet. Duff had seen enough of those cottages. They were everywhere in Ireland. 

Izzy knocked at the door. It took a while until it was opened a gap and a haggard, unshaven face appeared. Duff couldn’t say if the man was the burglar. The height may be right, but there hadn’t been anything distinctive about him. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” Izzy said. “We pride ourselves on outstanding customer services, so when we realized that you have forgotten something at A. Rose’s Herbs and Spices, we decided to deliver it right to your doorstep.”

He took one of the glowing marbles out of Duff’s bag and held it up. Shocked, the man made a step backwards and slammed the door into their faces. A screech indicated that a bolt was being pushed forward. Izzy sighed. He put his hand against the cracking wood, felt for the right position, and then the bolt screeched again. Before the man had time to react, he pushed the door open and forced his way in. 

“You’ve been tired ever since you left, right?” he asked while the man stumbled backwards. 

Duff followed him into the cottage. It was not quite as desolate as he had expected, but hardly more than one step up. A bed, an open cooking place, a wobbly table and wonky chair. Whatever personal belongings the man owned, were piled up on a single shelf. 

“You have difficulties getting up in the morning? Your limbs are hurting? Headaches?”

“You bewitched me,” the man said. He stood pressed against the far wall.

“No.” Izzy closed the door behind himself and leant against it. “It’s not healthy for the likes of you to just step into a magical shop and threaten its owners. Still, I didn’t bewitch you. But I might help you undo what …,” he made a vague gesture with one finger in the air, “… happened to you.”

“Why would you do that?” 

Izzy cocked his head. “Let’s say, I’m a huge philanthropist. 

Duff didn’t know what that word meant, and he was pretty sure, the burglar didn’t know either. 

“How about we start with a name. It’s a bit uncomfortable to always address you as Mr Burglar. But I can do that, if you prefer.”

He didn’t get a reply. 

“All right.” Izzy held up the marble and released the energy. 

“Ouch!” the burglar yelled, and pressed a hand to his forehead. 

“Fine, we can do without introductions. All I need to know is: who sent you?”

“Nobody.”

“Give me the bag.”

Duff handed it over. Izzy pulled out another marble, a blue one, and triggered it. 

“Stop that!” the man begged. 

Duff started to feel pity for him. 

“Who sent you?” Izzy took out two at once. 

“Nobody, I told you!”

Pling. This time the man uttered a shrill shriek and pressed the bottom of his palms into his eyes. 

Yes, it may be necessary to transfer all energy back to the man’s aura, even if his was not full of holes, but it did hurt and Duff had the suspicion that Izzy enjoyed this a lot more than he should. 

“You just got up one morning and decided to walk all the way to Foxhill to break into an herb shop? Pull the other one, man. Who sent you?”

Izzy pulled a handful of marbles out of the bag. 

“Mr Saunders!” the burglar exclaimed. “It was Mr Saunders.”

Izzy closed his hand.

“And what exactly did Mr Saunders tell you to steal?”

“He had a list. A list of things he needed.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yes. I just …” he motioned towards the shelf. 

Izzy nodded and returned the marbles to their companions. The burglar took a piece of paper out of a cooking pot and handed it over. Izzy read it through and a frown appeared between his eyes. 

“Love potion?” he asked confused. 

Something nagged at Duff’s memory but it took him a moment before he recalled the incident. Love potion. 

“Tall? In his forties? Well dressed and totally arrogant?” he asked. 

The burglar nodded. “I sometimes do garden work for him.” 

Surprised, Izzy turned around. “You know him?”

“He came to the shop, I think. Ages ago.” At least it felt as if it had been ages ago. “Or maybe last week. Anyway, he wanted to buy ingredients for a love potion, but Axl refused to sell.”

“No.” Izzy looked at the list again. “He wouldn’t sell something this nasty. And it’s not an easy potion. I mean, I could try and probably botch it up. He really just wanted the ingredients and not have Axl do it?”

“I don’t think they got to that point.” Duff tried to remember the exact wording. “He got angry and stormed off. But Slash said he wasn’t magical and would need somebody to mix it for him.”

“Yes.” Izzy stuffed the list into his pocket. “But people are stupid and sometimes try themselves. Which won’t lead to anything if he’s really not magical. It’s when they do have a little bit of power that it will make the experiment go haywire. Still.” He turned to the burglar again. 

“Any mention of the lovely woman this was intended for?”

“A Mrs Prendergast,” came the prompt answer. “He wouldn’t shut up about her. How she had seduced him and then left him to rot. Because Mr Prendergast had more money, or something.”

Duff and Izzy exchanged glances that spoke of equal cluelessness. 

“Maybe Axl knows,” Izzy said. “He’s better informed about the local high society than I am. Right.” He tipped his hat. “I guess we’re done here. I thank you for your cooperation.”

The burglar sagged in relief. Duff wanted to ask how they were dealing with the rest of the marbles, when Izzy reached into the bag and unleashed them all at once. Duff watched in shock as the poor man screamed and went to his knees in agony. He pressed his hands into his eyes as if he tried to gauge them out, all the while wailing in misery. 

Izzy stepped closer, until the tips of his boots almost touched his knees. 

“If you cross my path or that of my family ever again, I will do far worse than this, understood?”

The man was not yet able to look up, but he violently nodded his head. 

“Come on. We’re done here.” Izzy pulled at Duff’s arm, and he followed him out of the cottage. 

“That was mean!” he said when they were a few steps away. “He told you what you wanted to know.”

“He needed his energy back anyway,” Izzy replied. “But like this, it served a higher purpose.” 

He grinned, and it was the first time ever since the werewolf accident that Duff saw him cheerful. Once again, he got the feeling that Izzy did have an evil streak in his not so lily-white soul. 

“Do you think this Mrs Prendergast is our woman?” he asked. 

“No. I suppose we are looking for the person who gave him the idea to poison her with this shit. We might have to talk to Mr Saunders, too.”

“You should have asked for his address.” 

“Yes, I should.” Izzy smiled. “Or I will just use the list for a locator spell.”

Yes, Izzy was delighted. Torturing the poor burglar had left him in high spirits. Duff almost expected him to start whistling, but that might have been too much open joy for somebody who had made ‘moody and mysterious’ part of his public image. 

“What now?” Duff asked while they made their way back. 

“Axl,” Izzy said. “He knows most of these people at least by name. From back in the day, when he was still the vicar’s son. Helps that he grew up in Whittlingsfield and that he did it as a non-magical person. We try very hard not to interact, so … I’m a bit at a loss at how to proceed.”

Axl, it turned out, had no idea who this Mr Saunders might be. 

“Maybe he’s moved in new. Or he must have changed a lot. Or never came to church. Anyway, I did not recognize him when he was here. But I do know Mrs Prendergast.”

Izzy perked up. “You do?”

They were in the shop again where Hector and Slash were still dancing around each other. In an order to ingratiate himself to the dog, Slash had started to toss pieces of old bread into his direction. Hector gobbled them up, but still growled when Slash came too close. 

“Yes.” Axl wrinkled his forehead and Duff was not sure if it was because of the question or the show Slash and Hector offered. “Nice woman. Really. Did a lot of charity, back in the day. She had this project where she tried to get kids out of the workhouse and have them learn something useful. But she must be about fifty.”

“Fifty?” Izzy asked. “Do you think this Mr Saunders was under a spell?”

Axl lifted his shoulders almost to his ears. “What? Did his aura have a slightly red tint with green spots in the middle. That’s your business, not mine.”

“It’s not that difficult,” Izzy muttered, but didn’t push it. “Does Mrs Prendergast live in Adlington Grove?” he asked. 

Axl shook his head. “Heatherfield. I was there once because she wanted the church to organize some charity event to fund ... whatever. She was always funding something. I don’t think she would just go and seduce somebody. And even if, she’s not the type you’ll lose your mind over. Over her money, maybe because most of it was hers and not his. But you’d have to get rid of Mr Prendergast first.”

“Maybe he’s got holes in his aura, too,” Duff said. 

Izzy looked at him and Duff almost saw his thoughts chase each other. 

“It all started somehow with the upper class. They were the first to die, everything else, the deaths at the port, that came later.”

He fell silent again. 

“Doesn’t help,” he finally said. “We need to talk to these people. Somehow. Without being obvious about what we are doing. But I don’t even know how we might meet them, leave alone tell us anything.”

“Church?” Duff asked. “I mean, they all go to church, right? Although, maybe we can intercept them outside. Afterwards. People like to stand around and chat. If you can’t go inside, I mean.”

“Why can’t we go inside?” Izzy looked a little clueless. “Is there a new regulation?” His gaze shifted to Axl. “Did you hear anything? Are we now precluded from church?”

“Not that it would change anything for you,” Axl replied. “When was the last time you’ve been to church?”

Izzy contemplated the question. “I once was in this church in Sheffield,” he said. “There was a magical artefact I needed. They had no idea what it was used for, so, really, it was absolutely acceptable that I took it. That was … ugh … about ten years ago? But …” he raised a finger, “… that means my last church visit is closer to the present than yours. Because I bet you haven’t set a foot into one ever since you’ve moved to Foxhill.”

Axl looked as if he wanted to show him his tongue. 

“Guys, back to the question,” Slash interrupted their squabbling. “Is there really a new regulation?” 

He looked at Duff. 

“No,” Duff stuttered. “I just thought … I mean … it’s a church. Won’t you … dunno… burn or something?” 

For a moment all three stared at him open-mouthed. Slash was the first to snicker. Then Axl followed and finally Izzy. It started as a chuckle, but soon they were all roaring with laughter. 

“Oh Duff,” Izzy was wiping tears out of his eyes. “What have we done before you moved in?”

“Had a lot less reason to laugh,” Slash said. 

“I have a better idea,” Axl said. “Church is not bad, but … how do you feel about holding up a tray for a few hours?”

“What?” Izzy asked. “Speak clearly, man. 

“Lady Elvira’s summer ball is coming up. Everybody with a name will be there. And I bet, if I asked her, she will get us in. As servants or something. Walk between people, offer them drinks, you’ll have all the time to look at all the auras you want to look at. And you’ll be practically invisible. That would be less suspicious than loitering around the churchyard while trying to get close enough to people to get a whiff of strange magic. 

“That…” Izzy said hesitantly, “… is really a good idea.”

“I can go tomorrow,” Axl said. “You, me, Duff, we play at serving food, and Slash can prowl around in the gardens. Sneak up on those who think they are on their own to gossip.”

“All right,” Izzy said. “It’s worth a try.”

Slash nodded, obviously happy that he wouldn’t have to hold a tray with glasses. 

“Who is Lady Elvira?” Duff asked. “And why would she help us?”

“We crossed paths a few years ago. She was possessed by an evil spirit,” Izzy said. “Made her push her husband over a cliff. Axl managed to exorcise it. Since then she has taken a liking to him. She also helped us with Kate. Shed a few tears in front of the administration, about this poor, little girl and how she deserved a chance.”

“How horrible,” Duff said. “I mean, killing your husband.”

“Oh no!” Axl said. “She’s quite glad about it. Said the spirit actually did her a favour. There were no children and while the estate went to some cousin, she got more money out of it than she will ever be able to spend. And she’s still top of society in Whittlingsfield. People will kill for an invitation to her balls.”

“And until then?” Duff asked. “I mean, when is this ball?”

“Two weeks,” Axl said. 

“I’ll try to get a lead on the book,” Izzy said. “And, honestly, I let some things slide over the last days. Got a bit of a scolding from the council because there’s a ghost in the watermill. Or something. They were not too precise. Just want me to get rid of it. At least it will make us a bit of money.”


	17. Chapter 17

The ghost turned out to not be a ghost. 

Early the next day, Duff and Izzy paid a visit to the watermill. It was located at to the little river Whittle, that was responsible for the town’s name. 

The miller, a jovial, non-magical man in his late thirties with more hair on his chin than on his head, greeted them enthusiastically. 

“Miller.” He shook first Izzy’s, then Duff’s hand. “Thomas Miller. And yes, I know the joke is on me. Pleased to meet you. Very pleased. It was such a relief when I heard that there was somebody who should be able to help me with my problem.”

He beckoned them in and lost no time getting down to business. With a wide sweep of his arms, he presented the issue. 

“Look at the chaos this ghost is producing. Every morning when I come to the mill, it looks like this. The boys are spending most of the day taking care of this mess. I’m lucky if I get half of the work done, I’m supposed to do.”

The interior, two-stories high, was dominated by a giant construction of wooden beams, which supported the iron wheels and millstones. Usually, these should be in motion, but today only a soft creaking was heard as they walked over the floor.

It was indeed messy and Duff felt deeply for ‘the boys’. Tools and empty sacks, some of them torn, others soiled, were tossed around haphazardly. A few bags of flour had been ripped open, and their contents dusted everything there was.

Izzy sneezed. Without giving an explanation, he climbed one of the ladders up to the gallery. He looked into the grain funnel, then walked on to inspect the corners, shifting sacks to the side or squatting to scratch at the floorboards. A few times he sniffed his fingers and pulled a face.

Duff had remained downstairs, hoping he didn’t look as incompetent as he felt. 

“He’s not a man of many words, is he?” Mr Miller asked while they both craned their heads to follow the proceedings upstairs. 

Izzy hadn’t offered more than a muttered good morning, but Duff wasn’t sure if this was owed to the early hour or the fact that they were dealing with non-magical people. Neither would entice him into idle chatting. But that’s what he had an assistant for, and Duff did his best to make up for his master’s lack of cordiality. 

“He knows what he’s doing,” he replied. “He’s the best.”

He was also the only one, but Mr Miller didn’t have to know that. 

“Oh, I’m sure.” He wiped his hands on his aprons in what looked like a nervous habit. “Are you his apprentice?”

“I’m not a wizard,” Duff said. “I’m not magical at all.” 

He would have loved to pretend, but he had long decided that carrying equipment was a poor way to make use of his qualities. No, his expertise lay elsewhere. Izzy may be a brilliant wizard and fantastic at burning bridges, but he sucked at building them new. Here it was up to Duff to rise and shine and reassure the paying customer that, yes, this moody, grumpy, disheveled man had come to the rescue and not to cheat them out of their hard-earned money. 

Being non-magical himself should give clients from outside Foxhill somebody they felt connected to. He was easier to talk to and ready to answer questions Izzy would roll his eyes at. Or would be ready, if Izzy had bothered to clue him in beforehand. 

“I didn’t know what I was dealing with at first,” Mr Miller continued. “I thought vagrants might have spent the night. But every night? The police didn’t want to look at it. So, when a friend suggested contacting the council of Foxhill, I thought he was pulling my leg. But turned out, he had a ghost in his attic last year, too. Never talked about it. Afraid it might reduce the value of the house.”

Duff wondered how many ghosts there were on a regular basis and if they came at certain seasons or presented a ubiquitous problem. There was so much he still had to learn. 

“But he was very happy with the way it was dealt with,” Mr Miller went on. “Effective and discreet he said. And that’s what I need here, too. If word gets out to my customers…,”

“It won’t,” Duff hurried to say. “Mr Stradlin is very discreet.” 

Uncommunicative would be another word to put it. Cagey, tight-lipped, withdrawn. He would go with discreet, he decided. 

Izzy was done with his inspection and climbed down the ladder. 

“So, what is going to happen now?” Mr Miller asked eagerly. “I’m committed to whatever needs to be done.”

Izzy took off his hat and scratched his head. 

“I’m afraid you have acquired a puck,” he said without directly looking at anybody. “And the problem is that he got into the beer. The bottles which you keep behind the grain sacks. Smell that stench? Like cat pee?”

“It’s not cat pee?” Mr Miller asked astonished. “I thought it was the blasted tomcat, from the Watkins’ farm.”

Izzy shook his head. “A drunk puck is a nuisance. And they like getting drunk. And then they stink.”

“So how do we get rid of him?” 

“That’s the problem.” Izzy fiddled with the hat in his hands. “You can’t.”

“What?” Now Mr Miller’s face turned red. “But … but…”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Izzy quickly said. “And they have their benefits.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Mice and rats don’t like pucks and stay away. They are more effective than cats.”

“But the chaos…”

“That’s easy. It’s because he got drunk. And unhappy that nobody cared about him. They’re a bit whiny, sometimes. All you’ve got to do is put down a bowl of cream in the evening. Every evening. And if you add a few biscuits, he’ll be extra happy. And … keep the beer away from him. Some of them do a bit of work overnight, but can’t promise. Depends on his personality. And whether he likes you. “

“There’s nothing you can do?” Mr Miller glared at Duff, probably resenting the statement that Izzy was ‘the best’. 

“Look,” Izzy put on his hat. “Try it. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and I promise, if you try it, everything will be fine.”

Mr Miller huffed, but as there was nothing to be done, they took their leave. 

“That didn’t go over well,” Duff said. 

“No.” Izzy looked a bit glum. “I hope he manages to live with it.”

Less than twenty-four hours later, they returned and Duff braced himself for Mr Miller’s disappointment. Smoothing things over wasn’t one of Izzy’s strengths, and if some customer placating was in order, it was clear who would have to take on that job. 

Izzy, too, dragged his feet the closer they came to the mill, but when they noticed that the wheel was in motion, they both breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You were right,” Mr Miller said, enthusiastically shaking their hands again. “It worked out. I thought if I tried this, why not do it right? So, I added a few slices of fruitcake to the cream. And look for yourself!”

He ushered them into the milling room and Duff was almost blinded by the sparkle everywhere. 

“It hasn’t been this clean in years. I can’t thank you enough!” He grabbed Izzy’s hand once more and shook it vigorously. 

Izzy, taken aback at the sudden joy, made attempts to wrap the job up and retreat, but Mr Miller wouldn’t have it. They had to stay for a second breakfast, during which Duff provided the entire conversation, and were sent home with a bag full of food in addition to the payment. 

“This won’t keep,” Izzy said when they were at a safe distance. “Pucks are lazy and this one is just trying to leave a good impression to get more fruitcake. If the miller now expects nightly miracles, he will soon be disappointed.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Duff said. “As long as he stops creating havoc, I’m sure Mr Miller won’t mind so much.”

“I hope so.” Izzy was marching ahead, hands in his pockets and kicking rocks out of the way. “Because there’s really no way to get rid of a puck. Except burn down the building.”

The whole scenario had left Duff a little pensive. Izzy always acted as if interaction between the magical and non-magical world had to be avoided at all costs. Yet he had hired a non-magical assistant at a whim. And had probably regretted it a dozen times, but Duff was still in employment. 

Then there was the still unknown Lady Elvira. Axl had visited her the day before, and she had not only been happy, but excited to help them. A woman in such a position was an important ally, but whenever the good lady and her summer ball were mentioned, Izzy looked as if he was due to have all his teeth pulled. 

Now there was this friend of Mr Miller, who had been happy enough with Izzy’s services to recommend him. For Mr Miller himself calling a wizard hadn’t been an issue either, once he had realized that this was an option. Sure, most people were wary or scared, but maybe this was only because they had never dealt directly with magicals.

How many cases did Izzy take for non-magical people? Constable Carter had asked a similar question, one he had avoided answering. Duff had pestered Axl about it the evening before, but Axl had shrugged and said he had enough work of his own and keeping up with Izzy’s business was not his job. 

“You know,” Duff said. “It’s a pity that people are so hush-hush about having had a ghost or a puck or something similar. Or ghouls in their private graveyards. A few more word-of-mouth recommendations might help increase business. Maybe you should advertise.”

Izzy stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel. The expression Duff encountered was one of utter horror. 

“I am doing my best here to keep us out of the public eye. I’m not a magical exterminator.”

If Duff thought about it, that was exactly what Izzy was. 

“But maybe that’s a mistake.”

Not only was he selling a service people needed, but he was also the only one in the whole town. Instead of a reply, Izzy walked on, and Duff ran after him. 

“Look at Mr Miller. He didn’t even know there was the possibility to call you. And he was so glad about your help. I mean, people might feel less threatened by magical issues if they knew where to turn to.”

“Or they might burn down a whole community.”

For once, Duff was the one to roll his eyes and it lay on his tongue to tell Izzy to stop being stupid. 

He had made a very valid point and as usual, Izzy was being all over the top. But he didn’t push it. If he had learned one thing, then that Izzy’s opinion regarding the compatibility of the magical and non-magical world was not to be swayed. If he felt pressured, he grew more and more stubborn until he completely closed up. 

When the aura thief was behind bars, and they had time to catch their breath, Duff decided to bring this up with Axl. Because another thing he had noticed was how little Izzy earned with his services. More complex or dangerous cases might pay better, but if this was a standard fee, then the bag full of food was urgently needed. Or they all lived off Axl’s income, which had been Duff’s suspicion for a while. 

It also explained why his own wages were abysmally low. Not that he was complaining. He would have worked for meals and lodging alone if it had gotten him off the streets. He had a lovely place to stay and more food than he could eat, the best employer in the world, and he was paid to do something that was so fascinating, he would do it for free.

But the ticket fare across the Atlantic was three pounds. Sixty shillings. Even if he saved as much as he could, it would take him almost two years to make enough money. And another year to put away a bit for a start overseas. A raise would be nice. And therefore, he had to find a way to increase Izzy’s income. Advertisement sounded like a very good idea. 

He pondered the idea until they returned to Stakesby Road where a man waited for them. 

“He’s here to take measurements,” Axl said while he brushed something glittery off his skirts. His male streak was over, but he didn’t seem to be sad about it. If anything, his attire was extra flashy today, as if to make up for all the dressless days.

“What?” Izzy tossed his hat onto the counter. 

“Apparently Lady Elvira is a bit worried that the uniforms might not fit properly. Looks like she’s a bit particular about the apparel of her servants. Or it’s because I told her that Duff was a giant.”

Izzy made a face as if he had bitten into something sour. 

“What will they do if you’re male that day? Still make you wear a maid’s dress?”

Axl shrugged. “I tried to explain the problem to him, but he didn’t get it. Typical non-magical square. I guess there will be something in the clothes storage that will fit me.” 

“All right.” Izzy heaved a sigh as if the world was coming to an end. “Let’s get it done. I’ll be so, so glad when this is over.”

In the end, it was hardly the big deal Izzy made it out to be, but for the rest of the day, he vanished in his room and refused to show his face. Duff would have liked to talk a bit more about the ball but didn’t dare bring it up. While carrying around food might not be what most people considered a good time, he had never been to a ball in all his life, and he was curious. 

In the evening, Axl retreated into his laboratory to mix ready-to-use potions, declaring he would kill whoever disturbed him. Slash had gone where ever cats went, and Duff was left to his own devices.

He opted for some late-night cleaning and swept the shop floor while thinking about how to make sure Izzy received the public recognition he deserved. Coming up with ideas was not a problem. He had lots of those, most of them absolutely brilliant. Unfortunately, they would also cause Izzy to leave town, never to return. 

Hector was lying in his basket, but when Duff opened the door to get rid of a shovel full of dirt, he jumped up and ran barking out of the house. 

“Hector!” 

Duff stepped into the street and listened. The barking was still audible and it didn’t seem to be moving on. He closed the door behind himself and tried to make out the dog in the darkness. 

“Hector! Here!”

Hector fell silent. Duff hoped that he was on his way back, but then the barking resumed. With a sigh, he started to run down the street. It was empty, so whatever Izzy was saying about people and their tendency to not do as told, the warning to stay home seemed to have reached most of Foxhill’s inhabitants. 

It occurred to him, that he shouldn’t be running around outside either, but Hector hadn’t been long with them. He might not know yet that he had a home to return to. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to pick him up. 

Duff hastened around a corner and stopped when he spotted a group of people. He made out three men and two women, all a bit too well-dressed for Foxhill. Hector hopped up and down at a safe distance, barking his tiny head off. 

“Sorry!” He tried to grab the dog, but Hector kept jumping out of reach. “He’s just a bit excited.”

Five heads turned in his direction, and Duff made a step backwards. The urge to turn tail and run got overwhelming, but the same instincts told him that it would likely kick off the chase. He had never seen a vampire in his life, but even without Axl’s warning he was sure, he would at least have had an idea what he was dealing with. These people exuded danger as if it was their eau de toilette. 

“I heard about you,” one of the women said. 

Like the others, she seemed to be in her early twenties, pale and beautiful, but she could as well be fifty of five hundred years old. Her dress, less colourful but definitely more expensive than Axl’s, swayed suggestively between her leg, demonstrating that she had exchanged petticoats for free movement. 

“Foxhill’s wizard got himself a mock-up assistant. Not a thimble full of magic about him. But now I see his reasoning. There has always been a bit of a rumour about his … unnatural celibacy. Tell me, sweetie, how do you compensate for your lack of spirit?”

Duff wanted to say that he was borderline magical and had spirit enough to offer, thank you very much. Or that Izzy’s love life or lack thereof was not their business. But he doubted his voice would be steady enough for that kind of attitude. His knees, at least, were trembling when he made another step backwards. 

A second later, they were right in front of him. When had they moved? Duff’s heart raced and he touched the emanater under his shirt. It hadn’t sped up yet, thank God. 

“Ouch!” one of the men suddenly yelled and jumped around on one foot. Hector was dangling from the leg of his trousers, and he raised his walking stick to beat him off. 

“Leave my dog alone!” Duff yelled, but Hector was already flying through the air. 

He tried a dash to the side, attempting to get around the group and save Hector, but they were faster and blocked his way. The bitten vampire cursed and inspected his torn clothes. 

Hector was back on his paws. He growled darkly and what little fur he possessed was raised like feather dusters. And then he started to grow. At first, it appeared to be a trick of the light, but, no, Hector’s legs elongated, his muscles swelled, his head grew bigger and bigger. Foam formed in front of his muzzle, and his teeth became far too many for one single dog. 

The man who had beaten him made a surprised step back and Hector forced his way past. He was now about the height of Duff’s hip and planted himself threateningly between him and the vampires.

“Nice little doggie you’ve got there,” the woman said. “Pity I don’t eat mutt. You, on the other hand…”

Hector leaped forward, not attacking yet, just warning. Duff hoped that he would have a few other tricks hidden inside his fur because even with a giant dog, five vampires seemed a bit much to take on. Like this, they would both be turned into breakfast meat. 

The woman remained unimpressed. 

“As much as I like to play with my food … time to end this.”

She lifted her hand and made a step forward. Duff looked around for a weapon, anything, but when he realized that he would have to resort to kicking and biting, a shot rang out. The woman stopped mid-movement and, as the other four, turned around. 

Out of the shadows, another player entered the scene, and when Duff recognized the hat, he almost puked with relief. 

“What did I tell you about hunting in Foxhill?” Izzy asked, levelling his weapon. It wasn’t the shotgun, Duff noticed, but something far sleeker. 

“Bullets won’t kill us,” the woman said. 

“No? Then you won’t mind, will you?” He pulled the trigger and the vampiress turned into dust. 

The other four scattered in surprise, but regrouped immediately, a few steps away from Duff and Hector. The dog was still holding his position.

“Wood tipped bullets do, or so I’ve heard,” Izzy said. “Looks like the manufacturer did a good job.”

“And now?” one of the men said. “You’ve got one more shot. And there’s four of us. The moment you have to reload, we will tear you apart. You and your little assistant. Your only chance to get out of this is to put down the gun and we might … reconsider. Take your pick.” He spread out his arms. 

Izzy cocked his head as if contemplating his options. 

“I think … I’ll start with you.” 

He pulled the trigger. 

Duff had expected Izzy to react like this, but the vampire had a point. There were still three of them to take care of. One for the wizard, one for the giant dog, and one for the assistant with trembling knees. He collected all his courage and was ready to jump the one closest to him when another shot rang out. Surprised he stared into Izzy’s direction, but he was shooting again. And again. And then, just like that, all five vampires were dust. 

For a moment, Duff couldn’t move. All his collected courage poured out of him and joined the wastewater in the sewer. Then his knees gave way, and he sat down on the street. Hector sniffed the ground where the dust had settled, but he was already shrinking until he was as tiny as before. 

Izzy was scanning the environment before he let the rifle sink and came running. 

“Duff? You all right?” He crouched down next to him. 

“I’m fine,” he wheezed out. 

Except for this huge wave of shame that started to take over. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, had he made a fool of himself. Running out to save a dog who then had to save him. 

“Then come on. Inside. We can’t be sure that this is the only troop. Come on, up you go.”

Izzy pulled at his arm and Duff scrambled to his feet. His knees weren’t sure this was a good idea, but he convinced them otherwise. Hector on their heels, they hurried back towards the shop. 

“How did you know?” Duff asked when the door closed behind them. 

“I heard the dog bark.” 

Izzy pushed the bolt home and put the rifle into a corner. Then he turned around and Duff’s knees almost started to tremble again. He was in for the scolding of his lifetime. 

“What were you doing outside?” His eyes were darker than usual, his pupils blown wide and his face pale. “What part of ‘there might be vampires around’ didn’t you get?”

“Hector,” Duff whispered. “He ran out of the shop. I just wanted to fetch him.”

“Hector can take care of himself,” Izzy growled. “You, on the other hand…”

He exhaled and his anger evaporated with his breath. 

“Hell, Duff, you can’t keep doing stuff like that. Only a few days ago you were bitten by a werewolf. And now you run out and into a vampire hunting party. Why didn’t you ask one of us to come?”

“I’m sorry,” Duff stuttered. “I didn’t think.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Suddenly Izzy covered the few steps between them and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You never do. That’s the problem with you.”

Duff expected a good shaking but instead, he got a hug. Confused, he held still. 

“How am I supposed to keep you safe if you don’t do as you’re told?” Izzy pushed him back to arm’s length again but didn’t let go. “If you can’t stick to what I say, then I can’t keep you here.”

“I will,” Duff hastily said. “I promise. And I didn’t do it on purpose. This was just a mistake.”

“Mistakes can be deadly.” Izzy let go of him and picked up the rifle. “I hope, at least you’ve learned something.” 

Duff nodded. But again it occurred to him that Izzy hadn’t used any magic to fight the vampires. If he could do it with non-magical methods, then everybody should be able to learn it. Except …

“Is this a magical gun?” Duff asked. “One that can shoot endlessly? And do you have to be a wizard to use it or could anybody?”

‘Me, for example,’ he thought. Because such a weapon would be helpful the next time, he ran into a vampire hunting party. 

Izzy gave him one of his disbelieving looks. 

“Wrong question, Duff. Again. The right one would be: how do I behave to ensure I’m still alive come Christmas? And, no, it’s not a magical rifle. And it doesn’t shoot endlessly. Just fifteen times. It’s a new model. Developed by some guy named Henry. When I heard about it, I ordered one. Took ages until it arrived. But I’d say …,” he grinned a little, “… it was worth the wait.”

He petted the weapon as if it was a living being. 

They went to the library, where Axl and Slash were cuddling on the couch. Slash, still in Axl’s lap, shifted into human form. 

“Get off, you oaf!” Axl yelped and pushed him away. “Really, how many times have I told you not to do that?” 

“You got them?” Slash asked when he was sitting upright. “We were short of looking for you.”

“What? Because of a handful of vampires?” Izzy leant the rifle against a bookshelf and gave them a quick rundown of the events. “I don’t think there were more of them, but keep your eyes open tonight.”

“Provocation?” Axl asked. “Or a declaration of war?”

Izzy took a bottle of whisky out of a cupboard, poured a glass, and handed it to Duff. 

“The first, I think. They were young. And a bit stupid. Luckily.” He cast a dark look into Duff’s direction. “More intent on showing off than being effective. But I can’t let it slide.”

Duff took a sip and the warmth was heavenly against the cold that had started to creep from his limbs up into his body. 

“Don’t you think we have enough on our plates as it is?” 

Slash made a demanding motion at the bottle and Izzy, unwilling to hand it over, took out more glasses. 

“Yes, we do.” They all settled, sipping whisky. “But I told them there would be consequences if they ever tried hunting around Whittlingsfield again. If I don’t follow up on it, this will turn into a serious problem. People might be willing to deal with a puck, but they won’t take kindly to having their relatives sucked dry.”

And here was Izzy, Duff thought, once more trying to solve the issue all hush-hush instead of making sure everybody knew about the huge service he was providing for the town. 

“First things first,” Axl said. “This will set them back at least a step. You don’t know if they were here officially. Maybe some half-grown wannabees tried to impress their leader.”

“Doesn’t make much of a difference,” Izzy said. “If I don’t put my foot down…”

“You did,” Axl interrupted him. “I agree, this isn’t over yet. But for now, … you did.”

Izzy didn’t look as if he was content, but he was willing to acquiesce for the moment. 

“Hector deserves a bone,” he said. The little dog had settled on his foot, and he bowed down to scratch him behind the ears. “Good job, buddy. I knew there was a guard dog inside you.”

Axl snorted. “There should be one in the kitchen.”

And to Duff’s surprise, Slash stood up and fetched it. 

+++

Later that night, after he had gone to bed, Duff had difficulties falling asleep. The vampire encounter kept running through his head in endless repetition. The shock had been subdued by alcohol, and now shame took over. 

His stupidity was astounding. What had he been thinking? Getting caught by a group of vampires like some damsel in distress. And he wanted to be a wizard’s assistant. No wonder Izzy had threatened to fire him on the spot. 

Izzy. Never in his life had he been so glad to see somebody as he had been when Izzy had stepped out of the shadows. A hero from one of the olden tales, when gods had still been walking the earth. Before the gates had been closed, if Axl was to be believed. An unkempt and scrawny hero, but a hero nevertheless. Like Lugh with his dog Failinis. Only that he was wielding fire weapons instead of an invincible spear. Although he did own a spear, now that Duff thought about it. And a sword. It was not likely to be Fragarach, but who knew? It surely had to be magical. 

For a moment he wondered if jerking off was worth the loss of a tiny little bit of aura energy. Sadly, he had created enough problems for one evening. Izzy would really fire him if he found him depleted of energy and covered in semen instead. 

One thing, however, he did know. He was in trouble. Deep. Indulging fantasies like this was pointless. He was Izzy’s assistant. No more. Keeping his hands firmly away from where they kept wandering, Duff finally fell asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Two days later, Izzy was gone. He hadn’t mentioned any plans that required a longer journey and Duff was reasonably sure that he hadn’t packed anything to take along either. He hadn’t even asked Kate for travel provisions. 

At first, Duff wasn’t surprised. Izzy came and went as he pleased and was as effective as Slash sneaking out of the house unnoticed. But so far, he had always returned within a day. 

“Maybe he is in trouble,” he said when they had sat down for the second Izzy-less dinner. “I think we should look for him.”

They were having mutton stew again, and Hector was chewing on a bone that was about as big as he was himself.

Axl shook his head. “This is not the first time. He will be back.”

“But…” What if he was hurt? Had been ambushed? Kidnapped? Was lying bleeding in a ditch or was locked up in the vampires’ lair. What if he was tortured? Or dead.

“Axl is right,” Slash said. “It’s always been like this. He leaves for a few days, gets his head out of his … you know … where he tends to stick it … and returns without ever telling where he has been. Unless … “ He turned into Axl’s direction. “Do you think he went to the cottage?”

“No.” 

Axl picked at his food. Pretended nonchalance or not, he wasn’t happy about Izzy’s absence either. 

“What cottage?” Duff asked. 

Axl sighed. “It’s up on the moors. About a day by horse. Nothing out there, just peat and heather. It’s outside the parish’s perimeters, so we’re allowed to own it.”

“And he might have gone there?”

“No,” Axl repeated. “He lets me know when he goes there. And he usually stays a few weeks. Which he can’t because the summer ball is next weekend and I’ll whack is stupid wizard ass if he isn’t back until then.”

“Which he will be,” Slash added hastily when he noticed Duff’s expression. “You can rely on him. Promise. Worrying about Izzy is not a good idea.”

“He has always been like that,” Axl said. “Even as a kid. Sometimes I would knock at his door and Mr Stradlin would tell me, he hadn’t been home for over two days. Every parent’s nightmare, but the old man never seemed troubled. Maybe he was more of a soothsayer than he was letting on. I suppose, you either live with it or you don’t, but expecting Izzy to leave notes, will not work. Makes you both unhappy, if you do. He needs his freedom.”

Duff tried to follow that advice, but he still found himself more than once in Izzy’s room. He sat on the bed and chased after traces of his scent in the air. His reassurance was that the row of weapons at the wall seemed complete, including the miracle rifle. At least he hadn’t gone vampire hunting on his own. 

It took four days, but then, in time for dinner, Izzy was back. They had just sat down when he strolled in, fetched a plate and reclaimed his place as if he had been out to enjoy a bit of fresh air. 

“Izzy,” Axl acknowledged his appearance, but didn’t bother to interrupt his meal. 

Slash resorted to a short nod. Duff wanted to fall around his neck, but contented himself with a smile. 

“What are we having?” Izzy asked and lifted the lid. “Oh, beef for a change. Nice.”

He heaped his plate to the rim and wolfed down food as fast as Hector did. It was such a rare occurrence to see him hungry, that Duff wondered if he had eaten at all over the last days.  
Axl cast a short glance into his direction and smiled a sly, little ‘told you so’. 

“I thought some more about this ball,” Izzy said through a mouth full of beef and potatoes. “I think you should make us a rumorius.”

“No,” Axl replied without looking up. 

“Oh, come on, Axl!” Izzy tossed his fork onto his plate. “Just this once.”

“I said no!” Now Axl did look back, belligerently, forehead in wrinkles and lips set in a stubborn line. 

“It’s for a higher purpose.” Izzy’s voice changed to wheedling. “Come on, please.”

“Don’t please me, Izzy!”

“You know I would never please you,” Izzy said, unable to not take advantage of that opening. 

Duff bit his tongue to not laugh. Axl, on the other hand, did snicker. 

“It’s unethical,” he said, his voice softer now: “And you know it.”

“But it’s for a higher purpose.”

“It’s always for a higher purpose. Doesn’t make it any better.” Axl stabbed his fork at a piece of potato. It broke apart, and he mashed it impatiently into the sauce. 

For a while, Izzy resorted to pleading looks, but it wasn’t convincing. More like something he had read in a book and was trying out for the first time. 

“What is a rumorius?” Duff asked. 

“An amulet,” Axl said. 

“And what does it do?” Sometimes they were all obnoxious in their magical superiority, the whole bunch of them. 

“If somebody comes near you while you wear it, it will make them spill secrets.”

“But … that would actually be helpful,” Duff said after a moment of pondering the implications. “I mean, isn’t getting secrets out of people the whole purpose of the ball?”

“See?” Izzy exclaimed. “Even Duff agrees. And he’s the most… nicest, ethically sound … whatever person in the whole country.”

“No!” Duff sputtered. “No, don’t … I mean … don’t get me involved in your fights.”

But it was too late. Axl was glaring at him. “You always have to take Izzy’s side, don’t you?”

“I’m not taking anybody’s side,” Duff said hastily. “I just thought … “

“…that it would be helpful,” Izzy finished the sentence for him. “And it would be. And I’m not doing it for personal gain. It’s for …”

“… yes, yes, a higher purpose.” Axl attacked his food again. “It would also be illegal because we would be using magic against non-magical people. Last time I checked you were the one around here enforcing all those stupid rules.”

“This is an exception,” Izzy replied blithely, as if he was the one to decide when rules were to be followed and when they were to be ignored. “Because of the higher purpose.”

“Doesn’t change that we are robbing people of their free will.”

“But they won’t even notice!”

“And that makes it any better?” Axl’s eyes were sparking. “What are you saying, Slash?”

Slash looked up from his plate in astonishment, as if this discussion didn’t concern him at all. 

“Are you asking me about ethically correct behaviour?”

Axl sighed. “No. So you’re in favour? All of you?” 

“Yes!” Izzy said before anybody else had a chance to open his mouth. “We are.”

Duff shrugged helplessly. 

“Whatever he says.” Slash tossed a piece of beef into Hector’s direction. 

“Don’t feed the dog from the table!” Axl said. “You’ll only teach him to beg.”

“He would never.” 

Hector had devoured the morsel and now stood next to Slash’s leg, front paws pushed up against his shin. Slash gave him another piece.

“All right.” Axl sounded as if he had agreed to stab a fork into his eye. “I’ll make two. One for you and one for me. But you’ll use it responsibly. If people tell you stuff that’s not relevant, you’ll direct them into another direction.”

“Hey,” Izzy raised his hands in a mock display of offense. “You know me. How much do I care about gossip?”

“Not much,” Axl said. “Which is why I’m agreeing. This once. Don’t make it a regular occurrence.”

“Promise.” 

But Izzy smiled as if he had gotten a foot into a door that so far had been closed for him. 

+++

When the day of the ball arrived, Duff was nervous. The night before he had barely slept and for the first time in as long as he could think, he wasn’t hungry for breakfast. 

He had a vague idea about how footmen were supposed to behave, as Mrs Padget hat employed a few of them. He had seen them cater to her guests, opening and closing doors, taking coats and saying “this way, sir, if you please”. 

But there were so many rules. He would never be able to pull this off halfway convincingly. And Axl and Izzy? Somehow picturing them all polite and obliging was hilarious in itself. The only one likely to do a good job was Slash. Because he would be a cat. Duff wished he was an animal, too. 

It was shortly past noon when they reached Lady Elvira Worley’s mansion. Why they had to be early, Duff didn’t know, but according to Axl, the good lady herself had uttered that request. When they entered the graveled driveway, Slash shifted into cat and made a detour through the park. He needn’t have bothered. It took them about another half hour to reach the mansion. 

The building itself woke Duff’s flight instincts. The main estate might have gone to some cousin, but the house Lady Elvira occupied was impressive enough. A little forlorn they stood in the bustling yard, between delivery carts and busy people. Some carried food or flowers. A boy swept the court, another one polished the doorknob and railings.

They did not use the front door, but were directed around the house to the servant’s entry. And now Duff knew why they had to come early. Nobody had time for them. They waited half an eternity, were sent from one confused footman to another, none of them knowing who they were or what they were doing here. 

Eventually the butler, of all people, approached them, apologized deeply for the inconveniences and led them upstairs and into the parlour. 

“Lady Worley will be here any moment,” he said, offered them refreshments which they declined, and left them alone. 

“What was that about?” Izzy asked. “I thought we would … dunno.” 

He looked so clueless that Duff felt pity for him. Or would have, if he hadn’t been busy feeling pity for himself. 

They waited for another eternity and then Lady Elvira was there. 

“My dear Miss Rose, I’m so sorry,” she started, right after grabbing Axl’s hand. “I heard you were sent to the servant’s entry. I have no idea how that could have happened.”

“Maybe because we’re here to play servants?” Axl said. 

Another reason might be that most servants here were dressed better than him and Izzy. Standing in the middle of all this polished elegance made Duff feel like a soot stain on an immaculate white glove.

“Yes about that...,” 

Lady Elvira passed on to Izzy with significantly less enthusiasm. She even sighed after she had shaken his hand. Then she gave Duff a quick up and down and her face brightened.

“My dear Miss Rose, the boy is perfect,” she returned to Axl. “Just as you described him.” 

‘Perfect for what?’ Duff wanted to ask. Dread pooled in his stomach. Had Axl mentioned his time at Mrs Padget’s? No, he wouldn’t do that to him. Or would he? 

“I’ve made a few adjustments to our plan.” She winked conspiratorially. 

“What adjustments?” Axl asked feebly. 

“You need to talk to people, right? So, I will introduce you to everybody. As my dear friends from Exeter. Mr and Mrs Rose. What do you say?”

Izzy and Axl exchanged looks, Izzy’s complexion getting a shade paler, Axl’s turning crimson. 

“I’ve never been to Exeter” Axl said. “I think Izzy hasn’t either.”

“Once or twice,” Izzy said. It didn’t seem to make him happier with the new plan. 

Lady Elvira waved the concerns away. “Nobody has been to Exeter,” she said. “And nobody will care. It’s so far and dreary down there. But now, my dear, I have the most beautiful gown for you. It will go splendidly with your hair. Josephine will help you dress. She is already upstairs. Come on, my dear, I’ll show you the way.”

Lady Elvira took his arm and ushered him out of the room. It was the first time, Duff had seen Axl speechless. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but now it had happened. Not only was he out of words, the pleading look he cast at Izzy spoke of utter despair. 

Izzy shrugged helplessly. He may fight ghouls and vampires, but he was no match for Lady Elvira.

“Do you know what that means?” Duff asked, when they were alone. 

“Yes,” Izzy fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He looked slightly green around his nose. “I’ll be married to Axl. For a whole night. I’ll have to be civil to him and courteous and have him cling to my arm.”

“It means,” Duff said. “You’ll have to dance. Do you even know how?”

Izzy’s expression turned more horrified than Axl’s had been. 

Half an hour later, Duff was ready to send out desperate pleas for help himself. Izzy had been whisked away by another person, and he had been handed over to some guy named Richard. Richard was almost as tall as Duff, safe an inch or two, and wore his blond hair in a short ponytail. He had been nice and helpful and had only laughed once when he had realized that Duff had no idea how to sort through the footman’s uniform that had been thrust into his arms. 

“Having to help out in a foreign house is always difficult,” he said right after he had swallowed his chuckles. 

He was really a nice guy and under different circumstances, Duff might have tried to befriend him. Today, however, he was not able to like anybody. 

“But it’s not that bad. How about I’ll show you what you’ll have to do first, and you can get dressed later. Keeps you from accidentally spilling sauce on anything. Speaking from personal experience here.”

That sounded like a good idea and Duff followed Richard into the ballroom. Country mansions weren’t his usual surroundings, so he could not offer comparisons about the location, but to him the extravagance was overwhelming. He had never seen such a big room in a private house. 

The giant chandelier in the middle was the first thing he noticed. That alone would burn more candles tonight than his family had used in a month, but it was only the beginning. Every few steps sconces grew out of the walls, enough to bring the room to daylight in the dark of the night. 

Chairs lined the walls, flower arrangements brightened dark corners, and garlands were strung high under the ceiling. A whole group of maids was scrubbing the parquet while others were giving the upholstery a last brush. 

“I was told to put you with the food.” 

Richard showed him a little room to the right. It was normally portioned off by huge double doors, but at the moment two men were busy removing them.

“Have you ever…?”

Duff shook his head and fought down his panic. Without success. What had they been thinking? Camouflaging as one of the flower arrangements might have been within his capabilities, but serving food? 

Why wasn’t there an invisibility spell? Axl had potions and amulets for every damned purpose, but he couldn’t make them invisible? What kind of wizard was he?

Richard seemed to notice his upheaval because he patted his arm. 

“Don’t worry. All you have to do is stand there…,” he pointed to the right side of a long, empty table, and look pretty.”

“I …. what?” Duff asked. 

“The right half of the table is yours. The left one is mine. In case you are lost, I’ll try to give you cues. But it’s simple. If somebody asks for something, you give it to them. If somebody wants to get rid of something, a plate or a glass or something like that, you take it. That’s all you’ve got to do. Apart from that …” Richard dropped his voice to a whisper. “The mistress likes to have good looking footmen stand around to show off to her guests.”

He laughed when he saw Duff’s disbelieving look. 

“You really are not used to this, are you? Your master and mistress don’t entertain much?”

“No,” Duff said. 

If throngs of people invaded their house at Stakesby Road, Izzy would either get a stroke or the shotgun. Or first one and then the other. 

“Yes, Lady Worley hired half a dozen guys just for tonigh. Their only job will be to stand around. Two at the front, two at the cloak room, two at the garden door. And you and me here.”

It sounded like a colossal waste of money to Duff, but what did he know about the customs of higher society? Those few members of the upper class he had done business with hadn’t behaved much differently from anybody else, once they had dropped their clothes. 

“Any questions?” Richard asked. 

Duff shook his head. He had a million questions, but getting them answered wouldn’t help him survive this evening.

Another hour later, Duff was ready to call it quits and live with a ruptured aura. He sat on a wooden bench in the servants’ room and watched people get dressed, arrange their hair, brush tiniest specks off immaculate uniforms or adjust each other’s neckties half an inch to the left or the right. 

Richard had kindly helped him put on the livery and while he wasn’t the only one in this outfit, he was sure that everybody was laughing about him. Lady Elvira was a supporter of slightly out fashioned, highly embellished type of clothes for her servants, including breeches, stockings and buckled shoes. 

Did it fit? Oh yes, perfectly. But it was also the most uncomfortable attire he had ever worn. And he had to be careful with it. Richard had warned him to, under no circumstances, let anything happen to the ugly white silk stockings he had been forced into. Because, apparently down there was the most important part of his body and a single speck of dirt would ruin the result. 

He was torn out of his gloom, when a girl poked her head through the doorway and called his name. 

“Your master is looking for you,” she said and showed him the staircase. “First floor, second room to the right.”

Duff didn’t mind. Getting out of this insanity, if only for a few minutes, was a breath of fresh air. He found the indicated door, knocked, and when he was called in, his first instinct was to apologize and search for the correct room. 

“Don’t look like that,” the gentleman said with Izzy’s voice. “I know it’s ridiculous.”

Ridiculous wasn’t the word, Duff would have used. His first impression was that everything was astonishingly neat and clean for Izzy, no wrinkles, no scuffed seams, trousers, vest, coat and tie beautifully coordinated in different shades of dark and light grey. The second miracle was that everything fit perfectly. 

Usually, most clothes were a little baggy on Izzy. Not enough to stand out but bought used and made for men with more substance, he often appeared plainer than he was. But dressed up like this, everything tailored to his figure, he didn’t look as skinny and scraggly as Duff was accustomed to. Just tall and slender and … handsome. 

With a sigh, Izzy ran a hand through his perfectly coiffured hair and Duff smiled when it stood up the way it always did. This, at least, was familiar. 

“Don’t complain,” Duff said. “You look like a gentleman. I can apply as monkey on a barrel organ.”

Izzy eyed him from head to toe and back up again. 

“I would like to say something to the contrary, but … sorry, Duff, you’re right. But the ponytail is cute.”

Duff rolled his eyes. He had been late to get it, but the reason Lady Elvira had been so happy about him was that there was a slight resemblance between him and Richard. According to Richard, she had been searching for his counterpart for ages, but without success. Standing left and right to the buffet, they would look like a pair of bookends. And that was all they were: living decorations. 

“At least I won’t have to dance,” he stabbed back. 

“I’m sure that after my first attempt, I won’t have to either,” Izzy replied. 

He was smirking, starting to see the amusement in the whole affair. 

“You know who really will have to suffer?” His smile widened. 

“The poor girls you’ll have to dance with?”

His own sense of humour would need a few more hours to recover. 

“Axl. Come on. Let’s look how he’s faring.”

“Do you have an idea where he is?” Duff asked when they left the room and walked down the corridor. 

“There,” Izzy pointed towards a door that was pulled open, but Duff had already realized it himself. 

“That must be Josephine,” he said, as he watched the young woman in a maid’s uniform dry her tear stained face with her apron while escaping up another staircase. 

“I suppose so.” 

He reopened the door without knocking first. Duff followed, and for the second time he was sure, he had barged into the wrong room. 

If Izzy had looked unfamiliar, Axl’s appearance was something out of another world. He stood next to a dressing table, tall and upright in a cloud of light blue muslin and ivory coloured lace. The amount of fabric made to use this gown would have kept all his sisters in Sunday clothes for a lifetime.

Axl’s hair, bright red in contrast to the light colours, was put up in complicated patterns and adorned with tiny white flowers, and where there was no lace, pearls graced his pale skin. And it was pale. Very pale. All the freckles Duff liked so much were gone. 

The rumorius amulet, shaped like a silver tear, had been removed from its original leather strip and was threaded onto a matching chain. 

“You scared the poor maid,” Izzy said. 

“Because she wouldn’t stop poking me with needles.” Axl pulled at the bodice. “I can’t breathe. I can’t walk. Hell, Izzy, I don’t even know how to sit down with this … this … thing over my ass? Why do people wear this?” 

Izzy did his best to keep the twitching corners of his mouth under control. 

“You look beautiful, Axl,” he said. 

“Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m not. I feel with your pains, but… you look beautiful.” He sounded as if he meant it.

Axl’s features softened. He was a vain creature at heart and discomfort or not, he couldn’t help soaking up admiration when it was offered. And here, Duff thought, it was due.

“Do you have an idea how much this even weighs? I’ll have bruises on my hips tomorrow. Carrying flour bags is less tedious. Why do you get to wear clothes you can move in and I’ve got to drag this monstrosity behind myself?”

“Because a gentleman does not impress by the extravagance of his attire, but by spirited conversation,” Izzy replied. 

“Spirited conversation? You? Good luck with that.” 

Axl snickered and then broke into laughter. It was cut short, as he coughed and fought for breath. 

“See?” he wheezed. “I can’t even laugh because the damned corset is too tight.”

Izzy smiled. “If the amulet works as planned, people should talk to me and not the other way round. And we need to inform Slash about the change of plan.”

“Right. Can you see me drag this death trap through the mud outside? And Duff will ruin his pretty white stockings if he crawls through the thickets in search for the blasted cat. The only one able to go outside is you.”

“You have a point there.” Izzy scratched his head and further ruined his hairdo. “I’ll go have a look.”

Duff stepped up next to Axl to let him pass. 

“He’s right,” he said. “You look beautiful.” 

Axl snorted, but he was pleased. 

“But not as beautiful as Izzy. He looks awesome.”

Axl gave him a strange look, but Duff didn’t care. 

“He always looks handsome, I think. I mean, I even like his ratty, old hat. In fact, I think I like the ratty old hat better than this. It’s all so sleek. Sleek doesn’t suit him. But he does look handsome wearing it.”

“Duff?” Axl asked softly. 

Yes, he realized that he was babbling, but somehow that wasn’t important. 

“And I like when his hair is all mussed up. Totally ruins his attempts at being dark and dangerous. And he doesn’t even notice, does he? I mean …”

“Duff?” Axl interrupted him, sternly now. “Take a step back. I would do it myself, but I would only trip over my train, fall into the lamp and catch fire.”

“What?” Duff asked confused. 

“Take a step back,” Axl repeated. “Better two.” 

Duff obeyed and then what he had said hit him like a sledgehammer. 

“Good,” Axl said. “Make sure you keep that distance to any of us for as long as we’re wearing this.” He held up the rumorius. “Now you might understand why I’m not a friend of these little tricks.” 

“Right,” Duff said. He was sure his ears were as red as Axl’s hair. The rest of his face probably, too. 

“I’ll pretend, I haven’t heard any of what you have said. And now help me loosen this damned corset because Josephine kept whining that it had to be so tight or it would ruin the silhouette of the gown and she’d get into trouble with Lady Elvira. I might not be able to do anything about the fire hazard I’m pulling behind me, but I insist on being able to breathe. With Izzy around, you never know when you have to suddenly run for your life.”

Lady’s maid was yet another job outside Duff’s repertoire. But he was so glad when Axl turned away from him that opening the hooks at the back of the dress and retying the laces of the corset was the lesser of two evils. With all the fabric he didn’t get close to naked skin anyway. 

“You know,” Axl said when they were done. “You will have to make the first step.”

“What?” Duff asked, feeling his ears grow hot. Again. He wasn’t off the hook yet. Adjusting Axl’s underwear was less embarrassing than continuing this discussion, so maybe there was something else that needed retying? 

“Izzy. You’ve got to take the lead. Because he won’t.”

Axl gathered his train and headed for the door. 

“Oh.” As an afterthought he stopped and turned around. “If you hurt him … you know what I’m capable of. Not even running off to America will save you.”

And with those parting words, he swept out of the room, leaving Duff alone with his confusion, his embarrassment and his ridiculous outfit.


	19. Chapter 19

Duff forgot about his lapsus as soon as the guests started to trickle in. There wasn’t anything for him to do yet, but the crowd of people striding into the ballroom was a sight to behold. He spotted Axl and Izzy in the middle and maybe he was biased, but to him they made the most beautiful couple of all of them. 

Izzy behaved a bit wary, drifting to the fringes as if trying to get his back against the wall, but Axl soon got the hang of how to fit in. Lady Elvira had kicked off the first introductions, and as anything new was interesting, they were now handed around from guest to guest. 

Luckily nobody cared about food yet. The most Duff had to do was direct people to the punch bowl, and so he had time to watch and calm his nerves. 

When the first dance was announced, he was torn between dread and morbid fascination. Would Axl fall over his dress? Would Izzy turn on his heel and flee the scene?

The couples took up their positions and … Duff was in for a second surprise. They knew how to dance. Both of them. Not as perfectly as some of the others, but not too shabby either. Axl, especially, moved with a certain elegance a lot of the younger women lacked, if a bit too far on the suggestive side for the company. Izzy knew the steps, didn’t trample on anybody’s foot or ran into any of the other couples, which was more than Duff had expected from him.

He had to ask them about this because no way in hell had Izzy been taught to dance by an old, travelling soothsayer. 

After the first round, Axl was beleaguered by gentlemen. They didn’t care that there were younger women or that he was married to their knowledge, they were fascinated and unable to stay away. The female guests, on the other hand, were less impressed. 

“I don’t know what is so special about this Mrs Rose,” a matron in her forties said to a woman half her age. “She is a bit on the sturdy side, isn’t she? What would you say, Miss Violet? Broad shoulders. And so tall.”

Duff was short of asking her what she thought was wrong with being tall, but that was a no go, of course. Instead, he stared ahead and pretended to not listen. 

“Mr Blakely claimed she was the most beautiful woman of the assembly,” Miss Violet said. She laughed softly, as if that was a ridiculous notion. “But I suppose some men like women of the … robust type. Have you seen her nose?”

Duff tried to remember anything that might be wrong with Axl’s nose, but came up empty. Miss Violet’s however, now that was something a piglet would be proud of. 

“He wouldn’t dare to make such an assumption if Mrs Campbell and her daughters had attended,” the first one continued. “Her eldest, especially. Now, that’s a natural beauty, if I have ever seen one.” 

Miss Violet looked a bit piqued, but didn’t dare put the Miss Campbells down, too.

“It’s a pity that so many families are missing out this year,” she said instead, her voice dripping with barely hidden glee. “But the Campbells are still in mourning and it would have been very improper to attend any gay festivities as this.”

“The Campbells, the Robinsons. Oh, and the Montgomeries. A shame, as the second daughter just came out this year. She is missing the whole season and maybe even the next. And the oldest one hasn’t found a match yet either. She will be past marriageable age, once she can go out again.”

Duff pricked his ears. This wasn’t exactly helpful, but they were talking about the right families. 

“At least they possess a sense of decency,” Miss Violet continued. “Have you heard about Mr Prendergast?” 

“No.” The first woman made a step nearer to not miss out on any juicy details. Duff would have, too, but that was out of the question. “Only two months after his wife passed away, he has already …” 

The voice became too soft to overhear and Duff had to restrain himself to not follow the women on their way to the other end of the room. But what he had heard, had potential. The current Mrs Prendergast wasn’t the old matron Axl had known. And the new one seemed to be overshadowed by some sort of scandal. A woman attractive enough for one man to break into a wizard’s shop and another to risk public shunning to gain her attention. He had to let Izzy or Axl know, so that they could direct their inquiries towards the right people. 

He looked around and realized that it would be a long while until one of them would find the time to come over and get the message. The next dance was in motion and Axl was busy bewitching a new partner. Izzy had escaped his duty of filling some poor maid’s dance card and was instead encircled by a small group of men who seemed to be talking at him all at the same time. He looked slightly desperate and Duff started to fear that the rumorius was working too well. 

The evening went on, boring, eventless and painful. Standing straight for an eternity was no fun. Duff had reached a point where he was grateful for each plate he got to put away because it allowed him to make three steps to the right and relieve his back muscles for a second. 

The air became hotter and stickier by the minute, and he started to feel pity for Izzy and Axl who had to partake in physical activities dressed up in layers and layers of cloth. 

He noticed movement out of the wink of his eye and spotted a cat sitting on the window sill and looking inside. No, not inside, but following Axl and his various dance partners, who were all getting a little bit closer than was considered acceptable. Poor Slash. He didn’t seem to have much fun either.

Suddenly Izzy stood in front of him, hair in disarray, cravat pulled partly loose and scowling as if he was ready to commit murder. Or suicide. 

“Come on,” he said and grabbed Duff’s arm. 

“I can’t,” Duff protested. 

“Yes, you can,” Izzy growled. “You’re my assistant and I have use for you. Now stop making a scene and come on.”

Confused, Duff stumbled after him, through the hordes of people and out into the garden. He hadn’t noticed how dark it had become, but the sun must have set hours ago. Izzy didn’t stop, but marched on with his unerring surety, down a little path and away from the few guests who had left the party for a bit of fresh air. 

“Is something wrong?” Duff asked, but Izzy didn’t reply. 

Eventually, when they were out of sight, he stopped, pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it. In green. 

“My ears are bleeding,” he muttered between puffs of smoke. “Really, Duff, you have no idea. These people … what bullshit they have on their minds.” He pressed a hand against his forehead. “And Axl thought I asked for the rumorius for the fun of it.”

“Axl doesn’t seem to mind so much,” Duff said. He recalled the last image of Axl, chatting to about half a dozen gentlemen. “I have the feeling, he’s enjoying himself.”

Izzy snorted. “Axl is having the time of his life. Problem is, when the next oaf tells me that he would love to peel my lovely wife out of her beautiful dress, I probably have to demand satisfaction. I have pretended to be slightly deaf, but that has only made people yell at me so loud that everybody is informed about their intentions.”

“What?” Duff sputtered. 

“They tell you whatever is on their mind, Duff! No matter what. Which is, why I had to get away for a while. To avoid somebody running for the pistols. Because, really, we’re almost there.”

“Oh,” Duff stuttered, remembering his own misstep. “Yes. That.”

Izzy eyed him curiously. They were hidden in the shadows, but there was enough light from the windows to make out details. 

“You spilled some secret to Axl, didn’t you?”

Duff nodded, hoping it was too dark for Izzy to see him blush. 

“He told you?”

“No. Anything horrible?”

“Just embarrassing.”

Izzy laughed. “You didn’t tell him that you wanted to get him out of his dress, too, did you?”

Duff shook his head. 

“Then it can’t be too bad. You’re too nice to have horrible secrets.”

That depended on the position, he thought. Father O’Brian would consider it more than horrible that Duff was lusting after another man. 

He wasn’t sure regarding Izzy’s stance in this matter. He had taken the confession about his sordid past in stride. And then there were Axl and Slash of course. But Axl was at least halfway female that had to count for something. 

Izzy might still be disgusted when he learned that Duff was harbouring not so innocent feelings for him. There was a difference between the general knowledge that things like that happened, and being at the receiving end of such unnatural desires. He might accept that Duff had had to do certain things to survive, but was not aware that at least sometimes, no matter how hard he tried not to, he veered off the straight path out of choice. 

So whatever Axl had said about ‘taking the lead’ and ‘making the first step’ didn’t mean anything. The constant gender changes might confuse him. Maybe he forgot that normally one was one or the other and that there were rules about who was allowed to develop desires for whom.

“Why do men react to Axl like that?” he asked. 

“You mean … lecherous?”

Duff nodded. 

Izzy took a long drag and the cigarette glowed bright green in the night. Then he spent an even longer time blowing out smoke before he answered. 

“Because the spell he used to … ehm … ruin his life, contained an erotic subcomponent. It’s only a minor aspect of the whole disaster, but it’s there. Not strong enough to make people lose their mind, but they do feel it. Women do, too. Still, all it does is wake a certain ... longing. How people react to it depends more on their own character than the spell.” 

“I don’t understand,” Duff said. 

Izzy snorted. “Take yourself. You think Axl is kind of alluring, right?”

Duff blushed, but he nodded. 

“Yet, you never behaved in any way … inappropriate. And when you watch him … and don’t deny it, Duff, you do … then it’s always with a smile and this soft, happy expression. As if you’re seeing something beautiful.”

“Because I do,” Duff said. “See something beautiful.”

“Yes, but that’s all you do. Enjoy it for what it is. Do you daydream about tearing off his clothes and ramming your dick home?”

“Izzy, really,” Duff stuttered. He quickly looked around, but they were still on their own. 

“That’s what I mean. Axl may stir certain desires, but what you make out of them, is up to your own personality. You can admire or you can try to possess. Or worse, if you can’t have it: destroy it so that nobody else will own it either.”

“That spell really wasn’t a good idea, was it?”

Izzy shrugged. “He deals with it well enough. And with the reactions it elicits. By now, it’s part of who he is.”

“Why does it affect women, too?”

“Some women desire women,” Izzy said. “Yes, I know, there is this idea that women don’t develop any urges, but that’s nonsense. But even if they don’t, they notice the attraction. And, again, it’s up to you what you make out of it. You can feel enchanted or you can be jealous. Which is why Axl draws equal amounts of hate and admiration. From men and women. Because a lot of men get pretty nasty when they realize their appetite won’t be satisfied.”

“Have you ever …”

“I’m a man, Duff. Yes, I have felt it, too. But it has never been an issue between us. It is not love. It is mere carnal attraction. You don’t ruin a friendship over something like that. I might have had some stupid ideas when I was young, but when Axl put me in my place, I could accept that. It was at a time when he still hated his female body with such a vengenace that I don’t think having somebody else touch it had crossed his mind. So, if that’s what’s weighing on your mind, that you’re lusting a bit after Axl, that’s all right. You told him, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so embarrassed?”

Duff shook his head. It was as Izzy had said, Axl was beautiful and watching him was mesmerizing. But he always curbed in his fantasies before they ran away from his control. It wasn’t that difficult. Getting a grip on the emotions he felt whenever Izzy was close, was a lot harder. 

“I heard two women talk about Mrs Prendergast,” he said to distract himself from thoughts that couldn’t lead anywhere. 

He narrated what he had heard. Izzy listened attentively, and the he sighed. 

“This means I have to approach this Miss Violet, right? To get the rest of the story out of her.”

“Would be good.”

“That means…,” Izzy heaved another sigh. “I have to find a way to dance with her.”

“You could have told me that you knew how to dance,” Duff said. “I was worried you’d make a complete fool out of yourself.”

Izzy snorted. “I suppose that’s what I did.”

“No, you didn’t,” Duff said. “Really not. Believe me, I had nothing else to do but watch. Won’t make people sing your praise, but absolutely fine. Who taught you?”

“Miss Agatha,” Izzy said. “She was a bit obsessed with manners and all that nonsense. Said Axl could be as male as he wanted, he still had to know how a lady behaved in public. Or else he’d get in trouble. He couldn’t afford to be considered lewd in addition to this ... affliction we’ve discussed. That’s why Axl is pretty good at navigating this ride from hell. But, yes, whenever I was around, I was pressed into service so Axl had somebody to practice his skills on. That’s how I learned, too. I just hadn’t thought I would ever use it in real life. “

He extinguished the cigarette under the heel of his shoe. 

“Come on. Let’s go back and suffer for another few hours.”

When they returned to the ballroom, it was Duff who almost turned around and fled. 

“What’s wrong?” Izzy asked, when he stopped dead in his tracks. 

“That man over there,” Duff whispered, “the one with the pink flower at his lapel. Who is talking to the lady in the white dress?”

“Half of the dresses are white, Duff,” Izzy whispered back. “Which one?”

“The girl who’s laughing now. He’s taking her arm.”

“What’s with him?”

“That’s Mr Jordan. He was … one of my clients.” 

Izzy’s eyes narrowed and now Duff was sure that Axl had it all wrong. Izzy connived at his sordid past, but he didn’t condone it. 

“Did he hurt you?” 

Duff wondered what that had to do with anything. 

“No. And he didn’t come that often. But what if he recognizes me?”

Izzy followed the man with his eyes, clearly not amused. 

“I don’t think he will. His kind of people doesn’t look twice at a servant. Different location, you look different. I mean, you’re wearing clothes, right? So, no, he won’t recognize you.”

Duff wasn’t sure. He hadn’t expected Mr Jordan either and was just as used to see him out of clothes. He still had immediately recognized him. 

“Don’t worry.” Izzy patted his arm. “If he bothers you, I will find a way to demand satisfaction. Nobody will question my motives if I say that he wanted to do unspeakable things to my wife. And I’m damn good with firearms. Might shut up the other morons for good if we make an example out of one of them. Now show me this silly goose I have to ask for a dance.”

+++

As the evening was nearing its end, Duff was unable to stand straight any longer. How Richard managed to keep his pose without the slightest bit of wavering, was unreal. Maybe he was a magical person, too. A tree-being, one who was able to stand upright for days, come hell or high water. 

When Izzy finally arrived to collect him, Duff was ready to fall to his knees to thank him. 

It was too late to walk the whole way back to Foxhill, and Lady Elvira had insisted that they spent the night. She had offered them two rooms, one for Izzy, one for Axl, which were connected by a door. She hadn’t been informed about Slash’s attendance, and Duff was assigned to share with Richard.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?” Lady Elvira asked, when most guests had left, and they were ready to retreat. 

“It was lovely,” Axl replied.

He was flushed, his hair not quite as perfect anymore, his dress a little less pristine, but his smile was radiant and sincere. 

“We have to repeat this some time,” Lady Elvira said. Then she looked at Izzy, who stood a few steps away, took Axl by his arm, pulled him aside, and inclined her head into his direction. “I hope he will finally put a ring on your finger.”

Axl’s eyes widened comically and Duff almost choked on a suppressed exclamation. Izzy remained stoic. 

“Things may be different for you and your people, but …,” she shook her head. “If he’s unable to come to a decision, I hope you noticed that you have options enough. Your age is not a hindrance. Not yet. Yes, you may be a bit past your spring, my dear, but you’re more beautiful than most of the young girls who were present tonight. Don’t waste your best years on a man who doesn’t appreciate it.”

“I’m not … waiting,” Axl stuttered. 

“That’s good to know.” She patted his arm. 

Then she turned to Duff and looked him up and down, just as she had when they had first met in the cloak room. 

“You did very well,” she said. 

Duff cast a helpless look into Axl’s direction. Lady Elvira was scary. 

“All I did was stand around.” 

Until he had developed back pain and muscle cramps. 

“Exactly! If you are ever looking for new employment, let me know. I’m paying ten shillings per week.”

Duff was sure his eyes were falling out of his head. Ten shillings? He would have to subtract food and lodging, but it was a lot more than Izzy would ever be able to pay him. Not even if he secretly started to place advertisements. 

“Think about it, the offer stands. Although…,” Lady Elvira started to stutter and now pressed a hand to her chest. She had stepped away from Axl and was out of the orbit of the rumorius. “… I should not try to pry an employee off one of my guest, so that was … inexcusably bad behaviour.”

“It’s all right,” Izzy said, not touching on the other part of her inexcusably bad behaviour. “It’s up to Duff to make such a decision. I will not stand between him and his future.”

Lady Elvira still seemed to be confused and a bit embarrassed. She wished them a good night and left them alone.

“Come on,” Izzy said. “Upstairs. I think there’s a cat waiting before your bedroom window. And we’ve got to talk.”

As soon as they had closed the door behind themselves and let Slash in, Axl dropped onto the bed and crashed the dress under himself. Then he performed some weird contortions to get rid of his shoes. 

“These things are killing me,” he groaned, when he was finally done. “No idea what they were made for, but not for dancing.”

“Nobody said you had to accept every dance,” Slash said. He had shifted into human and sat on the corner of the bed, still looking a bit unhappy.

“Yes, I had to.” Axl worked himself up onto his elbows. “You’re only allowed to say ‘no’ if you’re already engaged for that dance. If not, you have to accept. Plight of being a woman. Izzy was allowed to loiter at the fringes like a lonely crow while I was thrown to the wolves.”

“You could have lied,” Izzy said. “I did, too. The blasted floor master was up my ass all the time to ask this girl or that who had been sitting down for two dances in a row or some such nonsense. As if that was my fault.” 

“It’s called social behaviour, Izzy,” Axl replied. “You should try it some time.”

“What for? So, I have even greater need to put a bullet through my brain?”

“Guys,” Duff said. “Really, can we come to the point? Did any of you find out anything useful?”

“Izzy is filthy rich,” Slash said. “But not by honourable means, but by trade or something similar unappetising. That’s why he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to behave in polite society.”

“At least they got the last part right,” Izzy said. “Anything else?”

“Yes. If you weren’t filthy rich, Axl would never have married you. And you neglect him dreadfully. Which is why about half a dozen gentlemen will call on Lady Elvira tomorrow in hopes to entice Axl away on a carriage ride or a stroll at the coast or some other activity.”

Izzy laughed. 

“We should leave early,” Axl muttered and Slash nodded. 

“Did you get anything out of Miss Violet?” Duff asked. 

“I did,” Izzy pulled a face as if he the need to put a bullet through his brain had intensified tenfold. “She’s one nasty piece of work. She knows everything about everybody and it took me ages to get to the rumour we needed.” He shuddered. “Anyway. The old Mrs Prendergast died. Out of the blue. From a bowel disease. First, healthy as a fish, two weeks later, dead.”

“Bowel disease is short for arsenic poisoning,” Axl said. He looked livid. “She didn’t deserve that. Is there anything we can do about it? Like … poison Mr Prendergast, for example?”

“Maybe when this is over, we can get a hint to the police,” Izzy said. “If they exhume the body, they should be able to still find traces of arsenic, even after months. But that’s not all. He defied all decorum regarding her death. No proper obituary. Only in one newspaper. No donations to the church in her name. No huge, ugly grave monument. And two months later, Mr Prendergast married the new Mrs Prendergast. No mourning period, nothing. And bought this grandiose house in Adlington Grove because she pestered him to.”

“Smart move,” Slash said. “She won’t run into other magicals in Adlington Grove. No risk to be found out.”

“Agree.” Izzy said. “And she is rumoured to be young and blond and beautiful. But Miss Violet, the eminent authority with regards to female beauty, thinks she’s overrated.”

“Miss Violet doesn’t like Axl’s nose either,” Duff said. 

“What’s wrong with Axl’s nose?” Slash asked.

“Nothing is wrong with Axl’s nose,” Duff replied. “She’s just jealous.”

“I will dent in her own nose,” Axl muttered. 

“Can we please discuss Axl’s nose some other time?” Izzy interrupted them. “Thank you. What are the chances that somebody who was a pillar of society all of a sudden kills his wife and skips to the next one without halfway respecting the mourning traditions? I mean, as a man he might get away with cutting it down to a year. At least if he has little children. Which he doesn’t. But two months?”

Axl rubbed his eyes. “I can’t think,” he said. “Can we call it quits for tonight? We have our aim, it seems. Let’s sleep over the whole issue and we can come up with the next plan tomorrow.”

He struggled to sit upright and gratefully accepted Izzy’s hand to stagger to his feet. 

“I need to get out of this dress,” he muttered. “Yesterday. But there’s no chance I’ll manage that on my own without a pair of scissors.”

Izzy smirked. “I’m sorry, my love, but I have to neglect my marital duties. Again.”

He still held Axl’s hand in his and kissed it before thrusting it into Slash’s direction. 

“I entrust you with the care and wellbeing of my beautiful wife, sir” he said. “And with all the other aspects a husband should concern himself with. I expect everything to be taken care of to my lady’s utmost satisfaction!”

Axl made a rude gesture, but at the same time, he was laughing. 

“Have fun unwrapping, Slash.” Izzy took Duff’s arm and pointed him to the connection door. 

Duff followed, and when he closed the door behind them, he saw how Slash kissed Axl’s neck while fiddling with the first hook. Hopefully, they would bring up the patience it took to open all fifty thousand of them. It would be a shame if they ripped the dress. 

“I’ll go down to Richard,” Duff said. Getting out of ridiculous clothes seemed like a good idea to him, too. 

“No, you’re sleeping here.” 

Duff looked around. It was a nice room, big, tasteful, but there was only one bed. 

“It’s big enough,” Izzy said when he noticed his hesitation. “And it’s not the first time you slept in my bed, so stop being squeamish.”

Yes, but the last time he had been unconscious, Duff wanted to object. And not aware of any unnatural desires that overwhelmed him just thinking about … unwrapping somebody out of over elegant clothes. 

To add to his plight, Izzy had shrugged out of his coat and started to unbutton his vest. Duff quickly turned around. They had been prepared to stay the night, which gave him their bag to stare into. When his fingers stumbled over the frilly garment on top, he almost took it out to bring it to Axl, just to get away from Izzy. 

But then he realized that at least at the moment, Axl was not in need of a nightgown. He put it back, tossed Izzy’s onto the bed without looking up and started to undress himself. 

A few minutes later, the danger of naked skin banned, they both sat next to each other in the huge bed. The light was still burning and Duff couldn’t avoid listening to the soft noises that seeped through the wall. 

Izzy didn’t seem to mind, and if Duff thought some more about it, he didn’t either. Knowing that at least two of them were getting the most out of each other, was comforting. 

“Is that my shirt?” Izzy asked and tugged at Duff’s sleeve. 

“You didn’t even notice that it was missing,” Duff replied. “Means you don’t need it.”

And there was no way he would have slept naked in the same bed as Izzy. 

“Good to know.” Izzy leant back against the headboard.

“You know …,” he said after a while, “… you should think about the offer.”

“Which offer?” Duff asked confused. 

“Lady Elvira.” Izzy didn’t look at him, but picked at the sheets instead. “Ten shillings. I’ll never be able to pay you that much. And this is a good place,” he hastily added. “Nothing magical about it. You’d have a normal job in a normal household. No werewolves, no vampires.”

“I spent the night standing next to a table full of food,” Duff said. 

“Yes?” Izzy looked up. 

He shouldn’t be so confused, Duff thought. The fact in itself told all there was to tell, but not for Izzy, apparently. 

“That’s boring.”

“Boring is good, sometimes.”

“No, it isn’t.” Duff turned around to face him, and after a while Izzy met his eyes. “I love my job. Yes, ten shillings is a lot of money, but the job is … Really.” 

After he had left Mrs Padget’s, standing next to a table of food might have sounded heavenly, but now? When he had encountered all the excitement of magical investigations?

“What I do for you, that’s … You’re making a difference. Helping people. Your job is important and I can be a part of that. Here? I’d be a piece of furniture.”

A well paid piece of furniture, but still a piece of furniture. Izzy didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded. 

“It’s your decision,” he said. “You’ll always have a home with us. You know that, right?”

Duff hadn’t known that, but he nodded. 

“Means, if you want to give it a try … even if you later decide that it’s not for you … you could always come back. To us.”

“Thanks,” Duff whispered. It was an inadequate word for all that was implied, but he didn’t have a better one. 

“So, if you want to try …,”

“I don’t,” Duff interrupted him. 

“As I said. Your decision. I suppose Lady Elvira will keep the offer up for a while.” Izzy turned away and extinguished the lamp with a snip of his fingers. “Good night, Duff.”

“Night,” Duff whispered. 

He lay awake for a long time, listening to Axl’s soft gasps and Slash’s subdued groans and wondered if he had been stupid to reject such a chance. But when Izzy’s breathing evened out and their neighbours fell silent, he had come to the conclusion that he would rather skimp to do what he loved than be paid well for what he hated. 

+++

The next morning, loud arguing from the neighbouring room woke him up. Izzy was already out of bed, ready to check, and Duff followed suit. Never one to knock, Izzy opened the connection door. 

“What’s wrong?” he snapped. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Duff looked over his shoulder and noticed Slash, not wearing anything, quickly shifting into cat. Axl stood in the middle of the room, the blanket wrapped around his body. 

“I’m male!” he said. 

“And?” Izzy asked. 

“I didn’t bring any male clothes.”

“And?” 

“Hell, Izzy! I can’t wear a dress like this.”

“Why not?” Izzy asked. 

“Because it looks ridiculous. And doesn’t fit properly. I’m three inches taller when I’m male.”

“Then wear Slash’s clothes. He doesn’t need them when he’s a cat.”

“Are you crazy?” Axl looked as if he had received an especially immoral offer from one of yesterday’s dance partners. “He never washes them.”

Izzy blinked. “I think he washes them when he’s a cat. I mean, don’t they get cleaned when he grooms himself?”

Axl groaned. “Do you really think that’s making it any better?”

Izzy sighed. “I don’t care. I’ll go back to bed. It’s either your dress or Slash’s clothes. Which reminds me, when are all your new beaus due to arrive?”

In the end, nobody went back to bed. They packed their belongings and hurried home, before they had to introduce any visitors to Mrs Rose’s twin brother. Who didn't own proper clothes. Axl opted for his own over Slash’s, and they walked through the early summer morning back to Stakesby Road.

When they arrived, a crate was waiting for them. Duff opened it, and found all their clothes from the ball. Including his ridiculous uniform. 

“It might be worth a bit if you sell it,” Izzy said. “Or maybe Lady Elvira has her hopes up that you’ll accept her offer.”

“Never,” Duff said. He closed the lid and stored the crate in the furthest corner of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, I decided to add the homophobia issue to the story. I wasn't sure until now (meaning when this is all done I will have to do a bit of editing and add a few hints earlier) and left it open. 
> 
> Most of the time I prefer to pretend that homosexual relationships are just accepted, period, because otherwhile I would have to add it to pretty much every story. But the era this is set in makes it just too unrealistic (why do I talk about realism in a story that deals with magic?). Anyway, I did so much research, the need to make this story realistic has grown quite a bit, so I decided: let's add it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another short one for the weekend.

In the evening, Izzy called them all for a meeting in the library. Duff was the last to arrive, bringing mugs of tea he had prepared. He had caught up on lost sleep over the day, but his head was still stuffed with cotton wool and something to blow his brain free wouldn’t hurt. Axl, dull-eyed and dressed in a plain white shirt and nondescript waistcoat, had not bothered to take care of his outer appearance for a change. Slash, sprawling over half of the couch, had only agreed to shift because Izzy had threatened to throw him out if he refused to contribute anything. 

Izzy accepted his mug of tea with a smile. His left foot tapped against the right one and the fingers of his free hand drummed on the armrest. As a habitually nocturnal creature, staying up late didn’t have much of an effect on him. 

“We need to plan our next steps,” he said as soon as Slash had deigned to make room for Duff on the couch. “Mrs Prendergast. How do we get her?”

“Do we really have to get her?” Slash asked. “I thought, you needed the book.”

“If she even owns it.” Axl stretched out his legs and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“Where would she keep it?” Duff asked. “The new house at Adlington Grove?”

“Probably,” Izzy said. “It’s the safest place in the whole town. No magical persons allowed, nobody near who would know what it is. Doesn’t help.” He swirled tea in his mug before he took a sip. “We need to get in.”

“Right,” Axl said. “More breaking and entering. This time in a quarter where we’re forbidden to take a walk on the streets. Happen to know anybody who might get us a permit?”

Izzy shook his head. 

“I can go,” Duff said. “I’m not magical.”

“That might actually …,” Slash started, but Izzy quieted him with a dark look. 

“I’m not sending him alone into a house to steal a dangerous magical book from a powerful witch.” He turned to Duff. “How would you even get in? Ever picked a lock?”

Duff shrugged. “Once or twice. It’s not that difficult.” 

Izzy’s eyes widened. “You keep astounding me. Still. Not happening. Other ideas.”

His mother had always claimed that his friends were up to no good, and looking back, she may have had a point. On the other hand, it had taught him some valuable skills. 

“How about I go when Mrs Prendergast is not at home?” he asked. “She’s got to go out now and then, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, to sell the amulets,” Axl said. 

“That wasn’t her.” Duff tried to recall the face of the woman Willy had followed back to Adlington Grove. “I didn’t see much of her but she was not this amazing beauty men will kill for. Really not.”

“She might be using a spell,” Axl said. “To alter her appearance.”

“Or somebody is let in on the amulet deal.” Izzy’s fingers tapped faster for a moment before he shook his head. “Doesn’t help. Adlington Grove or not, I have to get into the house. If the book is there, I will feel it.”

“Sure,” Axl said. “And you’ll run into a witch who recognizes what you are and can have you arrested on the spot.” 

“I can rat her out just as she can rat out me,” Izzy replied. 

“Social influence, Izzy,” Axl said. “She’s got it. You don’t. Your word against hers means, there won’t even be an inquiry. Nobody will bother to inconvenience Mr and Mrs Prendergast in any way. They won’t be called to the administration to check for hidden powers. Just the idea! You, however, will be deported to the Outer Hebrides. And skinny as you are, I doubt that cutting peat in a working camp will bless you with a long lifespan.”

Izzy slumped back. “Then what do you suggest?” 

“Let me at least check out the house,” Duff said. “I could …,” he groaned, but there was no way around it. “I could put on my stupid uniform and find a reason to knock. Handing over a calling card, for example.”

“And then?” Izzy rubbed his neck. “You have no way to find out if there is anything untoward.”

“Can’t you make some sort of amulet or something? That will give a signal if the book is close?”

“It’s worth a try,” Axl said. “But you’d have to help me, Izzy. Really, I don’t feel anything of what you claim is there.”

Izzy shook his head. Duff clenched his hands to keep them from accidentally throttling him. No, no, and no. Was there anything else in his repertoire?

“Duff’s aura is too damaged. A locator pulls quite a lot of energy, especially if somebody non magical is supposed to use it. No, I have to go.”

Axl looked as if he wanted to toss his mug at him. 

“Let’s at least make a detailed plan,” Slash said. “Axl’s right. You can’t just run around Adlington Grove, looking like … that.” 

Izzy glared at him. “Like what?”

“Like a normal human being. You might be able to walk through quickly, but as soon as you hang around and check out buildings, you will be stopped. There are always police on the beat, everywhere and if you’re neither filthy rich nor a servant on an errand, you have no business being in Adlington Grove. It’s better if I go. A cat is far less conspicuous.”

Izzy raised a finger. “That’s it. Just as Axl said. You won’t be inconvenienced if you are rich and influential.”

“If you are either, I want a bigger share for the household costs,” Axl replied. 

“Don’t be dense. I have the clothes to pretend I am. I did just yesterday.”

“No.” Axl covered his face with both hands. “Please, don’t tell me you plan to do what I think you’re planning to do.”

“Duff will check out the house first. No knocking at doors though.” 

He got another stern glance. Izzy was overdoing it with the dark looks tonight. 

“We should be able to get the address from the register and you can walk past. No more than twice. Don’t stop and stare. Then you come back and … can you draw?”

Duff shook his head. 

“Pity. But a description should do.”

“And then?” Slash asked. “You put on your fancy costume and climb through a window?”

“That’s the plan.”

“No, it’s not,” Axl said. 

“But…,”

“Let me finish, Izzy. Your plan is stupid, as always. If you can’t get away with threatening people into submission, you’re lost. But you have one thing right: dressing up will likely keep us from random controls. Still, Mrs Prendergast will recognize we’re magical, so we have to be sure that she has gone out. At best, Mr Prendergast, too. That would leave the house to a hoard of servants.”

“We don’t have to go all,” Izzy said. “I can …”

“Let me finish, I said.” Axl put his mug onto the table with such vigour that tea spilled everywhere. “We need a spy. Duff would be possible, but he’s not exactly non-descript. I’d say, we take your little street urchin.”

“Willy?” Duff asked surprised. 

“Yes. We’ll have to scrub him clean and get him something like a page uniform, but that’s no big deal. Every rich neighbourhood has dozens of buttons running around. We’ll give him a calling crystal …”

“A what?” Duff interrupted him.

“Calling crystal,” Izzy said. “They come in pairs. If you break one, the other turns black.”

“Yes.” Axl gave Duff a dark look. He didn’t like being interrupted. “They will have to go out, sooner or later. Sunday church is the likeliest because, witch or not, if she aims to fit in halfway, she will have to go to church. Her husband won’t accept anything else. He’s shunned enough as he is, he has to make up for it.”

“Wouldn’t she risk being recognized?” Duff couldn’t help but interrupt again. “I mean … if she goes to church?”

“The likes of us don’t frequent organized churches,” Axl said. “I thought you knew that. Not so long ago you suggested we would burn if we set foot onto sacred ground.”

Duff eyed his toes. It wasn’t as easy to keep all these things straight as Axl believed. 

“To be honest,” Izzy said. “I think she must use some kind of camouflage. Or somebody would have spotted her.”

“Is that possible?” Axl asked. “I spent ages looking for such a spell. Never came across anything close.”

“She owns a book about powerful dark magic.” Izzy smiled wistfully. “It might contain something.”

Axl watched him silently. 

“Don’t get stupid ideas,” he said softly. “We’ll use it to undo the spell. And then we’ll make sure it can’t do any more harm.”

Izzy grumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Axl,” he forced through his teeth. 

“Good.” Axl turned to Duff. “Once your spy has tipped us off, we’ll go for a lovely stroll through the streets. And right in front of their house, I’ll suffer from a sudden feeling of faintness. You will knock at the next door and beg for help. Do that naïve, innocent routine of yours. Izzy will drag me inside and make a fuss. Be convincing, Izzy.” 

Izzy rolled his eyes. 

“We’ll drop a knock out potion. Should buy us enough time to search the house, grab the book, and run. At least if you can sense it, once we’re inside.”

“If it’s there, I will. But Duff …”

“… will get a protector. Yes, I know, it will pull some energy, but I can keep it low level. Alternative is, Duff leaves the house before I do it.”

“That might be better,” Izzy said. 

“I’ll take the protector,” Duff replied. 

Izzy sighed. “Of course, you do.”

“Yes, I will. But what about the servants?” Duff asked. “They might be able to describe you. And with that potion, the police will know where to look. And then you not only ran around forbidden territory, you also used magic against non magicals and you did it to break into the house of some upstanding member of society.”

If there was a prison camp for magicals on the Outer Hebrides, this would definitely send them either there or directly to the gallows. 

“The knock out potion has a nice side effect,” Izzy said. “It wipes the memory clean. If used early enough, meaning as soon as the door is closed, they won’t remember we were there.”

“How do I get in?” Slash asked. “I don’t think rich people go for a walk with their cat and I don’t have any fancy clothes.”

“You’ll have to stay behind,” Axl said.

Slash shook his head. “If you all go, I’ll go, too.”

Izzy’s lips twitched. “Somebody in this house is having a bad influence.” 

“How about you hide between Axl’s petticoats?” Duff asked. “Really, there’s enough room to stuff a tiger. Nobody would notice.”

Izzy sputtered tea over himself. “You know,” he said after he was done coughing. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Axl’s eyes grew wide and for a moment, his mouth stood open. “No way!”

“He could also hold on to the bustle.” Now Izzy’s complete face was twitching. “He’d only have to take care to not suffocate.”

Laughing Slash collapsed against Duff’s shoulder. 

“It would be possible,” he brought out between hick-ups. “I got a detailed look at all that stuff yesterday, and, yes, would work.”

“If you tear anything with your stupid claws, Hector will get a new pillow made out of your pelt,” Axl said. 

“Won’t.” Slash wiped tears out of his eyes. Then he broke into a new fit of laughter. 

“We’ll need to wait for a female day,” Izzy said. “On a Sunday.”

Axl shrugged. “That gives us time for preparations. I need Kate’s help to alter the dress. I can’t go for a walk in a ball gown. We have to get rid of about a yard of cloth if we want to remain unobtrusive. Then we have to get the page uniform for the boy. And negotiate payment with him, I assume?”

“Definitely,” Duff said. 

“And Izzy needs a hat. No gentleman goes for a walk without a hat.”

“I do have a hat,” Izzy replied. 

Axl’s expression turned even more scandalized than when Duff had suggested concealing Slash under his skirt. 

“One that doesn’t look as if it has been worn through countless grave robbing episodes,” he said. “A top hat.” 

“I’m not wearing a top hat!”

“Yes, you will. If I’ll have to force myself into a corset, you will wear a top hat. And we need to hire a cab for this. Because if we walk all the way to Adlington Grove in these clothes, they’ll be ruined. And don’t even suggest changing somewhere there. It takes at least an hour to get this damned outfit right.” 

“How do we fund it?” Slash asked softly, just when Duff was running through a mental calculation of the costs. 

Axl pulled a face and Duff realized that all eyes, his, Slash’s, Izzy’s were on him. 

“I’ll pawn off Miss Agatha’s earrings.”

“Axl, no…,” Izzy said. 

“Why not?” Axl asked belligerently. “You want to wear them? I can’t, cause the holes close with each freaking change I go through. They may just as well serve some purpose.”

Izzy opened his mouth but closed it again. “Maybe we can get them back later,” he said after a moment. 

“Don’t even think about stealing anything but the book,” Axl snapped. 

Izzy’s gaze shifted to the side, betraying that he was planning to do exactly that. 

“Somebody will notice if money is missing. Or jewellery. Or the table silver. The book? Not much she can do about, but valuables? Things like that always fall back on the servants. And after what we’re planning to do to them, they’ll be in trouble anyway.”

“All right.” Izzy let his head drop against the backrest and closed his eyes. “I’ll wear the top hat.”

Duff snorted. As if that was the most problematic part of the plan.


	21. Chapter 21

For the next weeks, with increasing regularity, Axl got up on Sunday mornings in all his glorious manliness. One female Saturday he tried to stay awake all night, but fell asleep for a few minutes in the early morning hours and woke up in clothes that were slightly too small. On another one, Izzy threatened to personally stuff him into the dress, no matter what gender he presented, only to decide the next morning that they could just as well wait another week.

Every Saturday Willy came up to Stakesby Road, always in time for dinner, slept on the couch, had breakfast and walked back to the port. Duff suspected this would become a regular habit even after they had gotten their female Sunday. 

Most of his time he spent doing research. Mr and Mrs Prendergast lived directly next to the park he had noticed during his outing with Willy to Adlington Grove. It was an impressive building, three stories of red bricks, a polished black front door, a small yard at the back. 

Fainting in reach of the bell shouldn’t be an issue. 

Against Izzy’s orders, he did a bit more sneaking around than was strictly necessary. He found the perfect position for Willy, a park bench hidden behind a group of ornamental trees but with a good enough view to notice anybody coming and going. In addition, he explored the surrounding streets and made mental notes about ways for a quick exit. Izzy might never lose his way, but Duff surely did, and he wanted to be prepared. 

He solved a few minor cases together with Izzy, one concerning an apple gnome who was raiding an orchard and a more exciting one when a lonely gwyllgi invaded from Wales. He had been strolling the coast road at night, had scared people and managed to make the local newspaper.

“But what if we see it?” Duff asked, when Izzy told him to grab a bag full of marbles, just in case. 

“That’s the point.” Izzy checked the shotgun, then loaded it and packed extra ammunition. 

“They’re an omen of death! And we’re likely to die soon, with this witch hunt and aura thieving and what have you. Do you really want to look at a black dog before we start? To make our deaths extra gruesome? What if you don’t manage to kill it?”

Hopefully shooting it would undo the curse, but one never knew. Curses were tricky. One hoped to be on the safe side, only to have it bite one’s ass when nobody was expecting it. 

Izzy strapped the shot gun over his shoulder and put on his hat. 

“Don’t be stupid, Duff! They’re not an omen of anything. And we definitely won’t kill it. They’re not that dangerous. But they do like to prey on sheep, so we’ll convince it to move on and go hunting up on the moor where the farmer will blame stray dogs. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

‘As if,’ Duff thought. “Maybe we should bring Hector,” he said aloud. 

But Izzy was on his way out and Duff had to run after him. 

Kate got tasked with washing their fancy clothes and getting them ready for use. She took Duff’s uniform out of the crate, Izzy’s suit, and finally the dress. Reverently she ran a hand over the fine cotton and fingered the lace. 

Axl explained the required changes to her, and she spent hours undoing and redoing everything with tiny stitches. The main task was getting rid of the train and cut about fifty yards of fabric out of the skirt to make it easier to move. When Axl told her to keep whatever cloth and lace she had taken out, she did something that had never happened before: she hugged him and squealed with delight.

Going to bed on a Saturday became a matter of major tension for Duff. He barely slept, and as soon as the first rays of sunshine tickled his face, he ran down into the kitchen to wait for the distribution of Christmas presents. Or Axl’s gender reveal. 

On the sixth attempt, Axl appeared for breakfast in a yellow cotton dress, his hair tied sloppily back because right after eating they would launch a major grooming excess. 

“Don’t grin like that,” he muttered, but then he was grinning himself. It was the first time ever that Duff saw him happy to wake up female. 

Duff’s delight lasted until he had cleared the table and noticed Axl standing in the doorway. Willy had been sent off with the calling crystal and the rest of them needed to get ready for action. 

“Anything I can do?” he asked and closed the larder. 

“Yes.” Axl pushed himself away from the frame. “You will help me get dressed.”

“I … what?” Duff stuttered. 

“It’s Sunday,” Axl said as if explaining the obvious to an exceptionally stupid child. “Kate is at home. And these clothes are not made to be put on without any help. I doubt it is even possible. Unless you are a tentacle being. Which I’m not.”

“And you want me to …,” 

“Who else? Izzy?” He snorted. “You’re the closest to a lady’s maid I can get. You did well enough last time.”

Yes, he had fiddled with Axl’s underwear before, but he did not want to make a regular habit out of it. 

“Why don’t you ask Slash,” he asked feebly. 

It earned him a bewildered look. “Are you crazy? What does Slash know about fashion?”

‘What do I know about fashion?’ Duff wanted to scream, but he knew it was hopeless. Axl had made up his mind and the world would follow suit. 

“All right,” he said and wished his voice wasn’t so squeaky. 

“You will survive. Come on.”

On legs wobblier than during his encounter with the gwyllgi, Duff followed Axl up to his room. 

The dress lay on the bed, next to a conglomerate of chemises, drawers, stockings, garters, petticoats, and corset covers. Duff started to understand Axl’s demands for help. Getting a six-horse hitch ready would be less trouble. 

“Turn around,” Axl said and started to open his dress before Duff had time to flee to the window. 

He watched the chicken scratching in the yard and listened to the rustling of fabric. 

“All right. Now come over.”

Slowly Duff turned around, ready to cover his eyes, should it be necessary. It was necessary, but he still refrained from doing it. Flustered he bit his lips. Axl stood next to the bed, wearing nothing but knee-length drawers over silk stockings and a tight-fitting chemise that left most of his shoulders bare. 

“Are you sure you worked in a brothel?” Axl asked. “How can you still be so innocent?” 

“There were only boys,” Duff said. 

And he had always felt like a boy when he had stripped and laid down. Now he desperately wanted to be a man. 

“Have you ever had a woman?” Axl’s voice turned soft. 

Duff shook his head. “I tried once, with Molly O’Leary. In the barn. But her father came in and I had to run or he would have killed me with the pitchfork. Luckily, he didn’t recognize me and Molly was a great girl. She didn’t tell him.”

Axl chuckled. “How far did you get? With Molly O’Leary.”

“I touched her breast,” Duff said, sure he was blushing to a shade of red that hadn’t been invented yet. “But she wasn’t easy. Really not, that’s not what I wanted to say.”

“Hush,” Axl made a step towards him and Duff had to look away from where his drawers parted. “Got a hand under her skirt?”

“That, too.” 

The ceiling, Duff decided, the ceiling was a good place to turn his eyes to. 

“Then I’m sure you’ll manage this. Come on, let’s get started.”

Still looking everywhere but at Axl, he approached the danger zone. 

“Jesus Christ, Duff.” 

Axl grabbed his hand and pressed it against his cleavage. Duff squeaked and tried to pull away, but Axl held him in place. 

“Feel,” he said. “And look. And then get over it.”

Duff stared at his hand and at the alluring swell under the thin, white cotton. His fingers twitched against the rim of the chemise, and when Axl let go off him, he caressed his breast, stumbled over a nipple and brushed through the groove below. For a moment, red-hot lust overcame him. The need to push Axl down on the bed, to venture further, part his thighs and search for the delights he knew lay hidden there, made blood pound in his ears. 

He shook his head until his vision cleared, and before him stood Axl once more, soft, beautiful … and out of reach. 

Duff pulled his hand away. 

“Good?” Axl asked. 

Duff bit his lips, but he nodded. Then he smiled a little. The need vanished as fast as it had rolled over him, and now, he understood how the spell worked. The more it was fed, the hungrier it became. But when it was ignored, it retreated back to where it had come from. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“No need to apologize.” Axl picked up the corset. “There was a time when I was having more problems with touching my body than you’re having now. Although for the opposite reason, but … yes. These things can be complicated.”

“Not anymore?”

Axl considered the question.

“I guess you learn to live with what you can’t change,” he said after a while. “If I had always been shifting the way I do now, I suppose I would never have made peace with myself. I would only have truly lived during my male days. But I was exclusively female for so many years that I had to come to terms. For a long time, I hated this body, but when I realized that it was meant to stay, I decided to make it mine.” 

He turned around and Duff breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw the perfect rounding of Axl’s backside and desperation returned. Desire flared up and before he noticed, what he was doing, he had laid his hand onto one of the mounds. He reached for Axl’s hips and was about to pull him closer when words found him through the haze.

“Your job is a little further up. Start from the bottom. Not too tight.”

Duff concentrated on his fingers and the ties and his focus returned. 

“I hope you’re a bit more coherent with Izzy,” Axl said. “’cause stumbling around like that won’t help you get your point across.”

Duff was tempted to pull the corset tight enough to cut off Axl’s breath and make him stop. 

“You haven’t talked to him yet, have you? It’s been six weeks.” 

“No. And I won’t.”

He had thought a lot about Axl’s words, had turned the idea around in his head every night and had come to the conclusion that his infatuation was doomed. Best to bury it before he ruined his position beyond redemption.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not interested in me.” 

Axl snorted, but Duff refused to let him take over and meddle with his brain the way he liked to do. 

“He treats me like a child all the time.” And a bothersome, irritating one on top of that.

“Yes, of course, he does. That’s his way of justifying his behaviour in front of himself.”

“What?” Duff tore at the laces. 

“Ouch,” Axl snapped. 

“Sorry.” Duff loosened it a bit. 

“He’s overprotective. You noticed that, didn’t you?”

Duff nodded. “Yes,” he added when he remembered that Axl couldn’t see him. “Done.”

Axl turned around. The corset didn’t make looking at him easier. His breasts were now hidden behind a new layer, but they were pushed up and heaved softly with every breath he took. Duff wanted to lay his hand on them to feel them move. 

“He can only justify it if he pretends that you’re still so young that you need protection. Which you’re not. You can hold your own. But Izzy is an idiot. If he stops pretending, he will have to find a reason why he still wants to protect you. Which might lead him in a direction he is not ready to go. Yet. So, take his goddamn hand and lead him down that path.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to go down that path!” Duff replied. “Maybe it’s a path that is abhorrent to him. Because only wicked, despicable, sinful people go down that path!”

“Your church really did a number on you, didn’t it?” Axl picked up the corset cover and pulled it over his head. 

“One of the vampires said …” He broke off.

“Said what?” Axl asked as soon as his head poked through the neckline. He smoothed the garment over his belly. 

“That Izzy was living celibately. ‘Unnatural celibacy’ she had called it. And it’s true, right? He never looks much at women. I mean, Bessie Harris is always smiling at him and she’s really pretty. I don’t think Izzy notices. And Emily Jones. I’ve seen her hang around the shop and not come in until he was there.” 

And those two weren’t the only ones. There were a few young, beautiful women trying to catch Izzy’s eye. 

“I thought, has he made a vow or something? That’s why he isn’t courting?”

Axl’s mouth stood open for a moment. 

“Are you really this dense, Duff?” 

He shook his head in despair and put on the first petticoat. The steel and horsehair contraption that would make the skirt fall properly over his ass followed and then Axl wrestled yet another petticoat on top of it. And a third one. 

“Unnatural celibacy is a funny way to put it. There are rumours that Izzy is a full-blown sodomite,” Axl said when he had turned and shifted everything to his satisfaction. “Although, they forget that he did have his share of women. The girls were always tripping over each other to get his attention and they will likely do it until he is fifty. Back in the day, Izzy was never one to say no to temptation, so, yes, he did sample the goods. Quite a bit, actually.”

He smiled a little as if remembering something he had almost forgotten.

“What has changed?” Duff asked. 

“I don’t know. Help me with the dress.” He stretched up his arms. 

Duff took the dress off the bed and tried to arrange it as well as possible before fiddling Axl’s hands through the sleeves and lowering it carefully over his head. 

“When he came home, after doing God knows what during those lost years of his, he was different.” 

“Different how?”

Axl pulled his hair out of the collar and huffed out a breath. The next step, Duff was familiar with. Fifty thousand hooks that had to be closed. He took Axl by his waist and turned him around. For a moment he was startled by the hard material that covered the former softness like an armour. 

“More in control of himself. And I’m not complaining. When he came back, I told him I’d toss his sorry ass out on the street if I caught him smoking opium again. Most of the time, he sticks to it. But his … carnal interests were reduced, too. But not because he made some kind of ridiculous vow.” 

He snickered at the mere idea and Duff blushed again. It had seemed like a very reasonable – and honourable, if regrettable – decision to him. Like the warrior monks of old. 

“I think he has always been more interested in men and took the women only because they threw themselves at his feet. Why say ‘no’ to free candy, you know?”

As women didn’t tend to throw themselves at his feet, Duff had no idea. 

“He doesn’t court men either,” he said, which invalided Axl’s theory. 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

Duff gathered Axl’s hair and pushed it over his shoulder to keep it from getting tangled in the clasps. 

“Because, yes, most people consider it … how did you call it? Oh yes: wicked, despicable, and sinful. Izzy doesn’t like to call attention to him. So, he keeps it under wraps. Like he keeps everything under wraps. Izzy has never been an open book, but he hasn’t been this closed-off either. He used to tell me a bit about what was going on in that addled brain of his. Not anymore.”

“You mean, he does take lovers?” 

Duff tried to remember anybody who might have been around regularly. But Izzy was often gone for a few hours, so maybe he preferred visiting him at his home. For a moment, jealousy flared up hot and painful, and he almost tore one of the tiny hooks out of the flimsy fabric. 

“Not that I know. But just like everybody else he has … urges. And I’m pretty sure he does satisfy them. Just not around Foxhill. He doesn’t shit where he eats. Instead, he takes his needs elsewhere and gets whatever is pent up inside out of his system. ”

“You mean … like when he was gone for several days?”

“Yes. Would explain why he’s always so relaxed when he returns. I heard you were familiar with men who do it that way.”

“Oh.” Duff closed the last clasp. 

Axl turned around again. 

“So, you see. Give yourself a push. And Izzy, too. Would do him good”

“Why me?” Duff asked. “Really, I mean, he knows what I have done. If he wanted me, he could just …” take me, he finished the sentence for himself. 

Izzy preferred to travel to the next town over to feed his desires. A clear indicator that he wasn’t interested in the whore he had in his house and his employment. 

“Looks like you really are this dense.” Axl took a brush from his dressing table and handed it over. “You do it.”

Why Axl was unable to brush his hair himself, Duff would never know. 

“Yes, he knows what you have done. But he also knows what has been done to you. And he does not want to add to that. Got it?”

Duff didn’t, but he still said ‘yes’ because if not, Axl would never shut up. Unfortunately, pretending he understood didn’t shut him up either. 

“Let me tell you a few things,” he said. As if he hadn’t told him a million things. “You are good for him. Here’s an example. Since you have joined our merry band of madmen, he has partaken in almost every meal we have.”

“But he never eats much,” Duff said. 

“Izzy eats!” 

Axl stressed each word as if he was describing the birth of Christ while Duff was asking why he was making such a fuss about a baby some vagrant woman had born in a stable. 

“Yes, mostly it’s by sheer accident, but he does put food into his mouth several times per day. Because he enjoys your company and coming down for meals doesn’t make it look as if he were seeking you out. For the same reason, he suddenly joins us in the library in the evening. Instead of prowling around Foxhill or locking himself up in his room and leading the life of a hermit.”

Duff wasn’t sure he was following Axl’s reasoning. If Izzy wanted his company, why did he push him away most of the time? He would happily spend every waking hour with him. And the sleeping ones, too. 

“I’m not even magical,” he played his last trump card. Wouldn’t Izzy want somebody like himself? Somebody with powers and abilities? Somebody awesome?

“Strong selling point in your favour.” 

Axl took the brush out of his hand. He sat down at the dressing table and gave himself a critical look in the mirror. Then he pinned up his hair strand by strand. 

“Izzy’s sensitivity is a bit of a curse. Me and Slash, we can feel other magical people when they are somehow in our vicinity. For example, I can sense them when they enter the shop and we’re in the same room. Slash notices them a few steps down the street. But Izzy feels half of Foxhill all the time. Must be like having his head in a beehive day in day out. As he’s not allowed to live anywhere else, it gets overwhelming sometimes. Which is why we’ve gotten the cottage. Whenever he thinks he’s losing his mind, he retreats for a few weeks to enjoy the silence. When all this is over, we’ll probably have to send him up. Maybe you should go with him. Gives you the opportunity for proper seduction.”

“Because that’s got what to do with me?” Duff asked. 

Axl was done with his hair and turned around. 

“You are silent, Duff. I can’t feel you at all, but most importantly, Izzy can’t either. I know that because he told me so. That it was balm for his tortured soul to have you around because you were just. Plain. Silent.”

“He never said that,” Duff replied. And if Axl thought being called boring was a compliment, he was the one who was dense. 

“Not in those words, no.” Axl smiled a little. “Point is: he likes you. He enjoys your company. And you want to … what was that … do wicked, despicable, sinful things to him. Go on and do them.”

Duff blushed again. He was sure there was no blood left in his body because over the course of his stay in Axl’s bedchamber it had all been transferred to his head. He had been through a lot of embarrassing situations in his life, but this one was taking the cake. 

“You’re good for him. He’s probably not as good for you, but I’ll overlook that because Izzy is my dear friend from the days of my youth and you are not. So. Grow a goddamn spine and drag him to your bed. I don’t know how to lay it out any plainer or clearer for you.”

“I got it,” Duff said. 

He still wasn’t convinced that Axl was right. Sure, it sounded all logical, but he could also be completely wrong. 

“Good. Close the necklace for me.”

Axl bowed his head and Duff fastened a delicate silver chain at the back of his equally delicate neck. He wanted at the same time wring it and press a kiss onto the milky white skin but abstained from both urges. 

“Get dressed,” Axl ordered when he was done. “I can do the rest on my own. We’re wasting far too much time here.”

‘And whose fault was that?’ Duff wanted to ask. But instead, he headed for his own chamber to force himself into his ridiculous footman’s uniform and follow up on another one of Izzy’s wacky ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't let all my research on Victorian underwear go to waste. Interesting information: drawers were open between the legs. Also, they were the most unmentionable piece of underwear within all the other unmentionables a woman had to wear. I drew the line at three petticoats, but it wouldn't have been unusual to add a few more.


	22. Chapter 22

Getting a cabbie to drive up to Foxhill was a difficulty they hadn’t considered. Slash had been sent out to take care of the issue, but had failed spectacularly. Eventually Izzy, the first of them to get all primly and properly dressed, managed to flag down a hackney by pretending to be a person of wealth and standing. He still had to threaten the driver with bodily harm before he agreed to take him back to Stakesby Road. 

“This nonsense has cost us more time than we can afford,” he muttered when they were all four piled up inside the carriage. “The crystal turned black half an hour ago.”

Slash had shifted into cat and Duff thought, they could at least have brushed him. It was unfair that he was always the only one who didn’t have to suffer. 

“Get off!” Axl snapped, when he tried to jump into his lap. “You’ll get cathair onto my dress.”

A feeling of doom settled in Duff’s stomach. He blamed the gwyllgi. One did not hunt down a black dog, only to have a nice chat with him. At least not if one planned to steal a book about dangerous black magic afterwards. Its appearance had been an omen, no matter what Izzy claimed. And the day had started as expected. 

First, he had gotten a huge run in one of his stockings and no idea what to do about it. Then the hassle with the cab had set them back. And now, right after Axl’s bizarre talk, Izzy was sitting across from him, looking all handsome and gentlemanly and being a major distraction. And why had he complained about the top hat? No matter what type of hat Izzy put over his messy hair, it would always look good. 

No, things couldn’t go well on a day that had started like that. 

The cab dropped them off on the other side of the park, and the dread in Duff’s stomach became painful. 

“Isn’t it enough that I have to strut around in this dress?” Axl muttered while they covered the last stretch. “Now I have a cat hopping between my feet, too.”

He clung to Izzy’s elbow like a proper lady. Duff walked a few steps behind them, carrying a satchel and agreeing with Lady Elvira. They should get married. Sure, they would kill each other within a week, but until then they would be beautiful. He wondered how their children would look and how it would be to have half a dozen tiny wizards and witches in the house. 

Traffic was minimal that day. Few carriages and fewer pedestrians were on their way this early before noon. 

“That’s the house,” Duff said, when the park lay behind them. 

He had attempted to draw a rough sketch, but from the look Axl cast him now, it hadn’t come close to the real thing. 

“Ready to faint, my dear?” Izzy asked and Axl dramatically sank into his arms. 

Duff ran to the door and tore at the bell pull. 

“Help!” he yelled in addition and hammered against the door. 

A footman, dressed a little less ridiculously than he himself, opened. 

“What is this noise?” he complained when he noticed that the perturbator was of as lowly standing as he was himself. 

“My mistress!” Duff gestured into Axl’s direction. “She suddenly got faint.”

The footman looked over his shoulder, but Izzy didn’t give him the chance to come to a decision. 

“Get out of the way, man!” he snapped. 

Then he lifted Axl up into his arms and forced his way inside. For a second Duff wondered where Slash was, but quickly banned that ensuing image from his mind. 

“Sir!” the footman stammered, but Izzy was already past. He spotted an armchair in a corner and delivered his precious load to its seat. 

Axl hung dramatically over the armrest, and Duff got the suspicion that he was enjoying the show. 

“Get some water!” Izzy ordered, as if he was used to bossing servants around. “Or better smelling salts. Don’t stand there like a tailor’s dummy, move!”

More servants had arrived, including what seemed to be the butler. Duff unobtrusively closed the door. Izzy pulled a vial out of his pocket and stepped onto it. The glass broke and one after the other, people dropped down around them. 

“Will it take care of the whole house?” Duff asked a little worried. 

“Should do.” Axl was on his feet and Slash shot out from under his skirt. “Come on, Izzy, hurry up. Which way?”

Izzy was already running upstairs. Duff would never get used to his surety with regards to picking ways. It was … well … magical. Without hesitating once, he took the second staircase and then followed a small corridor off the main one. The door at the end, however, was locked. 

“Hurry up!” Axl hissed. 

Izzy laid his hand over the lock and fumbled around, but nothing happened. 

“Don’t tell me…”

“Shut up Axl. It’s enchanted. At least means we’re in the right house.”

Izzy concentrated. His fingers scratched over the metal mounting, but nothing happened. 

“Shit!” he spat. 

“Let me.” 

Axl pushed him to the side and knelt down. As Izzy had done before, he laid his hand over the lock and closed his eyes. 

Time ticked by and Duff itched to ask what the hell they were doing. Axl hadn’t as much as twitched. If not for his soft breathing, he might have been a stature. 

Suddenly Izzy’s head turned, and he stared down the corridor. 

“There’s somebody outside,” he said. “Somebody magical. Duff…,”

But Duff, glad to be of any use at all, was already heading back for the staircase to have a look down on the street. Slash followed. 

He peered outside, keeping to the left of the window to avoid being seen. He spotted a maid with a basket over her arm, a boy with a page cap and a gentleman with a high top hat and, at second look, a red band around his right arm. 

“That man there…,” he picked Slash up so that he could take a look. “I think I know him. Yes! That’s the man who took me to Foxhill. When … when I first met you all,” he finished. 

Slash struggled and Duff sat him down. 

“Do you …,”

Slash was already on his way back to Axl and Izzy. Duff ran after him and Slash shifted. 

“Tremblay,” he said. 

“Awesome,” Izzy leant his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a second. “Of course, that bastard gets a permit for Adlington Grove. Do you think he’s noticed us?”

Slash shook his head. “At least he didn’t stop. The walls are pretty thick, too. I felt a tingle at the back of my neck, but that was all. And he’s dumber than dumb, you know that.”

Izzy didn’t look convinced. 

“Anything …,” he asked into Axl’s direction. 

“Shut up,” came the reply. 

“What if we don’t get through the door?” Duff asked. 

Izzy was about to answer, when Axl looked up. 

“You’ve got to…,” he started. 

“Yes…,” Izzy interrupted him. He placed one hand on top of Axl’s, took the handle into the other and concentrated. “On three.”

“One,” Axl said. “Two… three.”

Izzy turned the handle, and they both pushed with full force. The door opened, and they tumbled over each other as they fell into the room. 

“Help me up.”

Slash took Axl’s arm and pulled him to his feet. 

“What kind of magic is this, Izzy?” he asked but Izzy was three steps ahead. 

Duff followed them into what looked like a miniature version of Axl’s laboratory. Izzy made a beeline for a cupboard on the opposite wall. He almost tore the door out of its angles, reached for a little box and when he took something out of it, a shudder ran through his whole body. For a moment his eyes glazed over and Duff feared he would really have to search for smelling salts, and not to revive Axl. 

“Izzy,” Axl said softly when Izzy clutched a tattered, little book to his chest. “Put it into the bag.”

Duff stepped up to them and held the satchel open. It was lined with half a dozen protective spells, anything Axl had been able to come up with to contain magic. 

“Izzy!”

Izzy blinked as if he was waking from trance. His eyes focussed and with movements he seemed to wrest one by one from his body, he placed the book into the velvet lining. It was small but thick, the cover black, the pages yellowed. Duff was disappointed. Axl’s manual for the common use of Britain’s most poisonous plants had looked more impressive than this ratty stack of paper.

“Good.” Axl reached for the bag, but at that moment, Izzy’s head came up as if somebody had hit him into his guts. 

“Backdoor! Now!” He snatched the satchel out of Duff’s hand and ran. 

They all followed. Axl tripped first over his dress, then over Slash who had shifted back to cat. At the last moment, Duff caught his arm and kept him from tumbling down the staircase. They had barely made it to the ground floor, when he understood why they were running. The clatter of hooves stopped right in front of the house, a door clapped, and voices called out.

To his horror, Duff saw the first of the servants stir, but he had no time to worry. He still had Axl’s arm in his hand and pulled him after Slash and Izzy. 

They reached the backdoor when the front door opened. It was locked, too, but this time Izzy turned the lock with a single swipe of his hand. They fled out of the house and into a back alley. Duff knew exactly where they were heading. The park. His further explorations were paying off. 

They made it past the first line of shrubs and stopped, checking their options. Duff looked towards the road and noticed people. 

“There’s the man with armband again,” he said. 

“Oh hell!” Axl groaned. “We’re outside, he will … damned, I can feel him.”

“We’ve got to separate!” Izzy said. “Duff, get Axl out of here. He stands no chance in that dress. Slash, we will to distract him. He can’t come after all of us.”

“Guys,” Duff said, “he’s started into our direction.”

“Go!” Izzy said and was off. 

Duff grabbed Axl’s arm again, and they headed for the nearest thicket. 

“The shortest way out of Adlington Grove is in that direction,” Duff pointed past an ornamental duck pond towards a little stream and a row of alders. “When you’re out of the park, you’re out of the quarter. Meet me there. I’ll try to send him after Slash and Izzy.”

Axl opened his mouth, but Duff didn’t wait for any objections. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the man. What had Slash called him? Tremblay. And then it hit him where he had heard that name before. The pet wizard. The one working for the administration. The one who had pestered Izzy hard enough to make him seek out an opium den. And the same man who got his kicks out of picking some kid at the port, using him, and dropping him at Foxhill. He was really an asshole. 

For a moment, he feared he might be recognized, but then he remembered Izzy’s words from the evening of the ball: different location, different clothes, different situation. Nobody expected a whore from the port dressed up in a footman’s uniform in the poshest quarter of Whittlingsfield. 

Duff collected his resolution and ran. 

“Sir!” he exclaimed, doing his best to look as if he wanted to dissolve into tears. “Sir, you need to call the police.”

“What?” Tremblay stopped, his head turning back and forward between Duff and the park. 

“There are monsters!” Duff made his voice hitch and opened his eyes as wide as possible. “Monsters! They had horns. And a tail. They attacked me.”

“Where, boy, tell me where?” He grabbed Duff’s arm. 

“There!” 

He pointed into Slash’s direction. As a cat he was the fastest, smallest and had the best chances to escape without being spotted. 

“No sir!” he clung to Tremblay’s arm when he made moves to follow. “Don’t risk your life! We need to find a policeman.”

“Let go of me!” 

Tremblay tried to shake him off, but as the youngest of eight children, Duff had experiences clinging to bigger and stronger people who wanted to get rid of him. Tremblay was neither. 

“There is bravery and there is foolishness, dear sir,” he whined. “I hear there is somebody who usually takes care of these incidents.” 

He bit his tongue before ‘the wizard of Foxhill’ could escape. No need to bring attention to them when what they wanted was the exact opposite. But getting Izzy an official assignment to clean Adlington Grove from dangerous horn monsters was almost too tempting. It might gain him a public commendation or at least an honourable mentioning in the newspaper. 

“Let go, I said!”

This time, Duff did obey and Tremblay hurried after Slash. 

“I’ll send a police constable!” Duff called out. “I’ve never seen such heroism. I’m sure there’ll be a collection for the funeral at church.” 

Then he escaped into the same direction, he had sent Axl to. Close to the border of the park he outran him. 

“All good, I think,” he gasped. “He’s after Slash. And with those shoes, there’s no chance he’s gonna catch a cat.”

“Let’s hope not.” 

Axl had stopped, grateful to catch his breath, but now he gathered what was left of his skirts and marched on. Duff marvelled at the state he was in. At least he now understood why a lady had to wear so many petticoats. It was necessary, in case she had to make a mad dash through a park, wade through a stream and fight her way through thorny shrubbery. The dress was torn beyond redemption. Poor Kate would cry when she saw it. The first petticoat hadn’t withstood the claws of nature, neither had the second. The third was still intact, shielding Axl’s legs from scandalized looks of passerbys.

The last stretch, across a wet meadow, was especially muddy, and when they reached the street, Duff’s clothes had lost all their silky lustre, too. 

It took them another eternity to flag down a cab.

“My mistress has been assaulted,” he explained when the driver gave them a shocked look. “We had to flee through the park.”

He opened the door and handed Axl into the cabin. Then he stated the address. 

“Foxhill?” the driver exclaimed. “I’m not going to …”

“Listen!” Duff said. “You won’t deny lady in distress help, will you?”

“No.” The man took off his cap and scratched his head. “But Foxhill…”

“You’ve seen the state she is in. And …,” he lowered his voice, “she is in a delicate way. Do you really want her to walk that far? In her torn dress? After such a shock? We barely escaped with our lives.”

“But Foxhill!” the driver repeated. 

“Thank you!” Duff smiled his best smile. “I knew you were a good man.” 

He gave the horse a slap.

“Aren’t you coming?” the driver asked and pulled at the reins. 

“Need to talk to the police first,” Duff said. “Just take her home safely for me.”

“You can count on me,” the cabbie replied and flicked the whip. 

Duff headed back for the park. His feet in his ridiculous shoes were killing him, but he had to make sure that Slash and Izzy were all right. He had no idea which way Slash would have taken, but regarding Izzy, he had a pretty good notion. There was a small path through a piece of woodland that let out of town. If he was a wizard with unerring pathfinder abilities, that would have been his plan. 

He found the path and once again congratulated himself for having checked out the surroundings. The mud sported footprints, but he had no idea if they were Izzy’s or not. Out of other options he followed them, until they ended on drier ground. 

Somebody should equip Izzy with a locator spell, he thought, when he was confronted with too many crossing paths to make any well-founded decisions. 

He had no idea how much time he spent searching the area, but when he finally headed home, the sun was way past the zenith. On hurting feet, his pretty white stockings muddy brown and torn to ribbons, his black velvet breeches spiked with burs, he reached Foxhill. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he stopped by the pump for a short drink and to pour water over his head. 

“Duff?” 

He turned around and noticed Sally Harris, a bucket in her hand. 

“What happened to you?” Her voice was at the same time worried and morbidly curious. 

Over the last weeks, things had developed as Izzy had predicted. People had gotten used to him. They met him on the street or in the shop, sometimes Axl send him to carry their purchases, and the former scepticism had turned into acceptance. Duff had never had difficulties to make friends. People liked his easy ways and open demeanor, and Foxhill was no exception. 

“And why are you dressed like that?” He heard amusement under her words. 

Duff wiped a damp hand over his face. “Just a normal day when you’re working for Izzy.”

Sally laughed. In a few years she would be as pretty as her sister Bessie. 

“Anything I can do for you?” 

“Thanks,” Duff said. “But no. I’ll just go home and …,” he looked down at himself, “… get changed.”

And breathe a sigh of relief when he found Slash and Izzy both at home.

When he stepped into the shop, it was quiet. 

“Axl?” he called and went through the door that announced Izzy’s occupation. 

“Up here!” 

The voice came out of the laboratory and when he followed it, he found both Slash and Axl and about every book they owned. 

“What took you so long?” Axl asked.

“I searched for Izzy,” Duff stated the obvious. “He’s not back yet?”

“No.”

“Do you…,” he turned to Slash. 

“No. He went west, I went north.”

North was the woodland area Duff had searched. 

“He should long be home. What if he got arrested? Is there something we can do?”

Axl gave him a long look. “What if he made off with the book?”

‘He would never,’ Duff wanted to say. But he had seen the expression on Izzy’s face. And according to Axl, he had a liability to succumb to temptation. 

“Go and make us something to eat, Duff, will you?” Axl said. “I still have to …” he shook his head as if he didn’t know what he still had to do either. 

Duff went down into the kitchen. He doubted any of them cared much for food at the moment, at least not beyond grabbing something random from the pantry. Axl wanted him out of the way, and he wanted him busy. 

The hours ticked by and Izzy didn’t return. They had a cold meal for dinner and Duff suggested once more to check out the police station. 

“That’s not a good idea,” Axl said. 

He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail and looked the sloppiest Duff had ever seen him since the day he had moved in. 

“I know how you’re worried, but if we ask if they have arrested our wizard, they will want to know why we assume they might have.”

“If they got him, we would know,” Slash said. “’cause by now they’d be banging down the door.”

Duff thought about getting Hector on the trail, but he was a magical creature, too and forbidden from Adlington Grove. Maybe they could get a non magical dog somewhere. He had almost decided to start a search for one, when they heard the bell of the shop. 

All three of them jumped up and ran over, and when Duff spotted Izzy, dirty and in torn clothes, he couldn’t help it and threw himself around his neck. 

“Hey!” Izzy said, not unkindly. He brushed quickly over Duff’s hair before he dislodged himself from the hug. “I’d say you missed me.”

He tossed the top hat onto the counter. 

“Where were you?” Axl asked. 

“Huh?” Izzy feigned innocence. He had never been good at it and today was no difference. 

“Give me the book.” Axl pointed at the satchel. 

“I…”

“The book, Izzy. Now.” He flicked his fingers in a demanding gesture. 

“Don’t get your knickers into a twist,” Izzy muttered, but he did hand the bag over. 

Axl checked its contents and strapped it over his shoulder. 

“There’s still food in the kitchen.”

“Not hungry.” Izzy’s eyes were still on the satchel. 

“I need to take this out of the protective encasement,” Axl said. “To look for the right spell. Can you deal with that?”

Izzy rolled his eyes. 

“I still don’t have the slightest idea what your infatuation with this book is,” Axl continued, “but that spell up there, at the door, that was some really weird shit. And by breaking it we left a trail all the way down to Stakesby Road. Our time is limited until the honourable Mrs Prendergast will be on our very hot trail and I’d rather not waste any time. So I will take this book to my room and search for the spell and I do not want you drooling all over my doorstep. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Izzy spat. “Of course, Ma’am?”

Axl didn’t react to the provocation. 

“If you need to leave the house and stay somewhere else for the moment …”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Izzy said, all sarcasm gone from his voice. “Because you’re right. She will be on our trail and she will be royally pissed.”

“Glad we agree on this. So, go into the kitchen and eat something because it won’t help us if you keel over.”

“As you wish, Ma’am?” Izzy said belligerently. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“Yes,” Axl said. “Stop calling me Ma’am. I’m a man.”

Izzy stormed off, and it wasn’t into the direction of the kitchen. 

“Duff?” Axl grabbed his arm. “Stay with him. Don’t let him out of your sight. If he leaves the house, you go with him.”

“But …,” Duff stuttered. 

“He can get drunk if he absolutely has to, but keep him away from opium. I mean it. He’s so close.” He indicated about half an inch with thumb and forefinger. “And we don’t have time for that.”

“All right,” Duff stuttered. 

“Good boy.” Axl patted his head and Duff thought that Izzy had a point. As awesome as he could be, most of the time, Axl was obnoxious. 

He camped out onto the staircase, in view of Izzy’s door. Axl had locked himself into his bedroom and Slash was wherever shapeshifting cats went after stealing books about black magic. He had nodded off for maybe a minute, his head leaning against the railing, the wood of the steps biting into his ass, when he heard a door open and spotted Izzy on his way to the kitchen. As ordered, he followed. 

“You all right?” he asked, but he was reassured when he noticed that Izzy was gathering food. 

“What?” He looked confused to Duff, his eyes not fully clear.

“Are you all right?” he repeated. 

“Oh yes, sure. Axl is just being … Axl.” 

His words were a little slurred and Duff started to worry. Slash had been ill after he had touched the amulet. Maybe Izzy got ill from touching the book?

Izzy sat down and chewed on a piece of bread, crumbling half of it over the table. His expression was distracted, as he stared at a single point in one corner. Duff looked to check, but there wasn’t anything. Every now and then, he wiped his face in a jittery movement. When he started to pick up the crumbs and ate them, too, Duff had enough. He stood up and fetched Axl. 

“This better be important!” Axl snapped as he knocked, but when Duff related his observations, he put down the black little book, locked the door behind them, and followed him into the kitchen. 

“Izzy?” Axl took his chin and forced his head around.

“What?” Izzy growled and tried to fend him off. 

Axl grabbed a handful of hair and pulled backwards. 

Izzy grunted. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Hold still and look at me!” Axl seized his face with both hands and held him immobile. “Your pupils are like pinpricks. Laudanum? Where’s the bottle?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Izzy gave back. 

Axl let him go and he slumped forward.

“That’s what took you so long? You had to go shopping? And had a first dose somewhere else, right? While dragging the book all over Whittlingsfield? How careless can one person be?” 

Izzy sighed. “Goddamn, Axl, this book is … do you have an idea how hard it is to have it in the house?”

“Yes.” Axl sat down on the other side of the table. “From what I’ve read so far, I get an idea. I can’t grasp your attraction because this stuff is blacker than tar, but… “He ran a hand through his hair. “I understand that it’s difficult for you. Still. I need you clearheaded. Where is the bottle?”

“In my room.” Izzy dropped forward and buried his face in his arms. “Nightstand.”

Axl gave Duff a nod. “Get it.”

Duff did as told. Out of the wink of his eye he saw Axl brush a hand through tousled dark hair. When he returned, they were both facing each other, Izzy nursing a cup of black tea. Axl took the bottle and poured the content out of the window, eliciting a pitiful sound from him, but he did not try to interfere. 

“This was the only one?” 

Izzy nodded, looking like a scolded child. Duff stood to the side while Axl joined him once more at the table. 

“Do I have your word that you’ll stay here? Or do I have to lock you in ?.” His face was earnest. 

“That would make for an interesting contest.” 

Axl snorted. “One I would win. When it comes to practical spells, I’m better than you.”

“You are,” Izzy conceded. 

“Promise?”

Izzy nodded in defeat. 

“Duff will sleep in your room.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s not negotiable either. Duff in your room, Hector in front of your door. Do I have to place Slash on your window sill?”

“No.”

Never had Duff seen Izzy so abashed. It hurt to watch. 

“Good. I think by tomorrow I’ll have an idea about how to move on.”

“You know what we have to do next,” Izzy said. He looked frazzled, as if he was coming apart at the seams. “We have the spell and we have the effect. There are enough amulets left from Slash’s and Duff’s first raid. I can do it and I should.”

“I know. But you’re not doing it when you have taken laudanum. Tomorrow, Izzy. Sleep it off.”

Axl stood up and on his way out, he gently squeezed Izzy’s shoulder. 

Duff wanted to ask what all this was about, but he hadn’t been part of this conversation. They would let him know when it was time.


	23. Chapter 23

For the first time since Duff had moved to Foxhill, Axl didn’t open the shop on a Monday. He must have gotten some sleep during the night because he was male again, but it couldn’t have been much. When Kate arrived, he sent her back home, and when Izzy dragged himself out of bed, he wordlessly handed him a dose of the pale green potion. 

Duff’s instant reaction to Izzy’s appearance was pity, but the bruises on his hips quickly cured him from any feelings of sympathy. The night before, he had gotten a slightly incoherent speech about whom he thought his employer was and where his loyalties were laying and that he could go and work for Axl if that was more to his tastes. And then he had spent the night on Izzy’s bedroom floor. 

It wasn’t the worst night-quarter of his life, not by a long stretch, but his hipbones still hurt, and he was tempted to crawl up into the attic and close his eyes for another few hours. Which he wouldn’t do, because he was not Izzy and not liable to give in to every temptation life threw his way. 

Yes, it was a petty thought, but when Izzy was being petty, then he was allowed a round of uncharitable emotions, too. 

As Kate was at home, feeding the ungrateful magical bunch he was working for fell to him, and so he stoked the fire and put a pot with a few bones and a handful of vegetables onto the stove. If they wanted him to cook anything more complicated, they had to make sure he got a bed at night. 

“Duff?” 

He didn’t look up when Izzy suddenly stood behind him. 

“I’m sorry. Please, don’t be mad.” 

Startled, Duff dropped the spoon into the pot. Apologizes from Izzy were as rare as unicorns on a farmer’s auction. 

“You’re what?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, man.” 

Out of the wink of his eye he saw how Izzy brushed messy hair out of his face. He hadn’t bothered to comb it or wash himself or change out of yesterday’s clothes after sleeping in them. Nobody would believe how well he cleaned up when he employed a thimble full of care for his appearance. And that line of thinking wasn’t conducive to holding a grudge, when he was determined to hold a grudge. 

“Axl said I could always work for him,” he muttered. Axl had said no such thing, but Izzy didn’t need to know that. “Or maybe I should take the job Lady Elvira has offered me. She’s also paying better.”

“Don’t make me grovel,” Izzy said. His voice was soft, but not truly contrite. “All right, I’ll try. Please, stay my assistant. I would promise to never again use any opium in my life, but we both know that such promises are worthless. I’m trying. I really am. It just … doesn’t always work out.”

Duff had fished the spoon out of the soup and tossed into the sink. Then he slammed the lid onto the pot and turned around. 

“Do you think this is about the laudanum, Izzy?”

“I … yes …,” Izzy stuttered. 

For the first time ever, Duff saw him completely clueless, and he relished the thought that he was the one who had put that expression onto his face. 

“It’s not?”

“No!” Duff crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Then what …?”

“I didn’t stay with you because I was being mean. Or disloyal. Or siding with Axl. And you being such an ass about it that was … “ 

He looked to the side, needing Izzy’s face out of his vision for a moment. 

“I did side with Axl, but only because it was necessary. I’m on your fucking side, Izzy. Always will be. And if that means to go against your wishes for your own good, then I will do it. You can smoke yourself senseless as soon as we have gotten rid of this witch. Do I like it? No. Do you have the right to do it? Yes. Although I can’t promise I will push you home on a freaking wheelbarrow next time because that goddamned sucked. But you have a fight ahead of you. And I want you to win.”

Tears stung in his eyes, but he forced them down. It had taken Izzy and Axl and half of an eternity to open one single lock. Slash’s words still rang in his ears, claiming that Izzy was rather weak for a wizard. 

And it was true, wasn’t it? All he had seen him use was tricks and sleights of hand. A bit of smoke, a flare of light and lots of bluffing. So what if he could read an aura like nobody else or feel the tiniest trace of magical energy? How was sensitivity helpful in a fight? Storm and fire and flood waves, that was what they needed. Izzy didn’t have any of that. He was a scrawny, dirty juggler with an opium habit, and thought he could finagle his way through a challenge three sizes to big for him. This wasn’t selling snake-oil to swindle people out of their hard-earned money. This was the real thing, and Izzy did his best to destroy chances he didn’t have. 

“I want you to survive,” was what he finally said. 

“I …,” Izzy didn’t look any less perplexed than before. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Duff asked. 

“I … no.”

“Right.” Duff pushed himself away from the counter. “Maybe you will, once you stop cooking the last bit of sense out of your mind. Axl mentioned coming to the library when you were ready. He spent the night poring over that book while you were sleeping off your opium intoxication.”

Axl had spent the morning reinforcing all their doors and windows with protective spells, so when Izzy took his sweet time in the kitchen, he didn’t have to worry about leaving him unsupervised.

“Has an additional benefit,” Axl said. “They will keep Izzy inside, too and you get to sleep in your bed. He’ll have to make pretty please, if he wants to use the outhouse.”

“Not only Izzy,” Slash muttered. “Do I at least get a box full of sawdust?”

“Only if you clean it yourself,” Axl replied. 

“But I can open the door,” Duff said. He had been to the outhouse only minutes ago. 

“Because you’re not magical,” Axl said. “No point in keeping you locked in, too.”

In Duff’s absence, the library had been rearranged. Axl and Slash had pushed the furniture into the corners to make room in the middle. The carpet stood rolled up against one of the shelves and a conglomerate of bowls and candles and jars and pouches was ready to be used. Next to it all lay the black book. 

“Why do you do it here, and not in the laboratory?” Duff asked. 

“Energy flow is better,” Axl said. “At least Izzy claims it is. Personally, I don’t notice any difference. But I’m not the one who’s going to do it, so …everything to his tastes.”

Duff didn’t get a chance to ask what they were going to do because Izzy deigned to join them, a mug of black tea in his hand. His eyes were immediately drawn to the book and lingered until Axl cleared his throat. 

“Right,” he said, when he noticed everybody’s attention on him. “Suppose I get started.”

“Wait a moment.” Axl sat down on the couch and crossed one leg over the other. “Let’s summarize what we’ve got first.”

Izzy slumped into one of the armchairs and closed his eyes. 

“Go ahead,” he said as if he thought it unnecessary. 

Slash joined Axl on the couch and Duff decided against taking the remaining armchair, which was pushed up right next to Izzy’s. Instead, he chose the door as support. It was a bit weird because now they were talking across the whole room. 

“I found the spell,” Axl said. “It’s easy to undo.”

Izzy squinted. “From here?”

Axl snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice, huh? Theoretically yes, but we are lacking one ingredient. We need a little bit of everything. The spell which we have, somebody damaged by the spell …”

Izzy pointed at Duff and Axl nodded. 

“The means of the spell …”

“We have enough amulets left,” Izzy said. 

“Yes. And then we need the effects of the spell.”

“Goddammit.” Izzy closed his eyes again. “We have to go back to Adlington Grove?”

Duff felt his heart sink. Once they might have gotten lucky, but twice? Never. 

“I thought about it,” Axl said, “but no. To collect the energy, you need a direct line from the donor to the receptacle. A ley, if you want to. And it can’t be disturbed by earth energy. Adlington Grove is located in a bit of a depression, means there is no direct line from the port. She has to store it somewhere else.”

Izzy puffed out his cheeks and slowly let the air escape. “There were deaths all over Whittlingsfield. Means we’re looking for a place higher up.” He laughed softly. “Maybe it’s Foxhill.”

Duff had been running all over town during the last weeks, and he tried to come with a place that could be seen from everywhere. 

“The church,” he said. “No matter where you are, it’s always staring down on you from that cliff.”

Reproachful, he added silently. It wasn’t an inviting church. 

Suddenly everybody was looking at him. For a moment, they were silent and Duff heard his own breath hitch in his throat. 

“That’s actually …” Axl said.

“… likely,” Izzy finished his sentence. “Especially if you consider the tower. It’s the highest point of the town. 

“Then maybe we should have a look,” Slash said. “And skip this …,” he motioned at the paraphernalia Axl had brought down. 

“No, I’ve got to do it,” Izzy said. “We always call her a witch, but in fact, we have no idea if she really is one.” 

“Who but a witch would be able to …,” Duff started, but didn’t finish. He hadn’t taken anything else into account, but he wasn’t the most knowledgeable with regards to magical beings either. 

“This book,” Axl said, “it’s not just a list of spells. We, Slash, Izzy and me, we use our own magic. What we don’t have, we can’t use. Fifty percent of this book is about how to steal energy. From different realms, different species. Magic that is normally not compatible with each other. Magic you shouldn’t be able to use in our realm. Let’s say you’ll find a way to draw energy out of Tír na nÓg, doesn’t mean you can use it here. If you know how to combine different types of magic, the powers you can amass are … limitless.”

“So, you see,” Izzy said. “What she’s doing here, stealing energy, that’s not her end goal. It’s preparation for something bigger.”

“And you want to …” 

“Meet her,” Izzy said with a wry smile. “On another plane. Where she can’t hurt me.”

“Theoretically,” Slash said. “If she knows enough to pull energy out of another dimension, then she might be able to use it on another plane.”

“And she is using foreign magic already,” Axl said. “That’s why the lock was so weird, right? And why I can’t feel the amulets. Because that type of magic isn’t mine. And that you’re able to sense it, Izzy, that’s ... you shouldn’t be able to. It lifts you onto a new level.”

Izzy inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t do it,” Duff said. “Does it make a difference? Let’s find that … recep… whatever … vessel first and undo the spell and then we can see.”

“If I know what she is, then I know how to confront her,” Izzy said. “I don’t want to slow her down. I want to take her out of the game. And we have wasted enough time.” 

He stood up. 

Duff joined Slash on the couch while Axl and Izzy started on the preparations.

Izzy drew a large chalk circle across the floorboards, and Axl placed alternating candles and dishes filled with pungent smelling substances onto the line. With a pair of pincers Izzy took one of the amulets out of a bag and dropped into another bowl. He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and careful not to disturb anything, stepped into the circle. He knelt down in the middle, sitting back on his heels and struck a match. First he lit the candles, then the little bowls. Green flames shot up everywhere and Duff pulled a face as the smoke hit his nostrils. 

“Give me the book,” Izzy said. 

Axl picked it up and opened it at the right page before he handed it over. Izzy’s breath hitched in his chest as he took it and placed it into his lap. His fingers ran across the paper, as if he was feeling the spell rather than reading it. For a moment he focussed onto the floor, and deliberately evened out his breathing. Then he took the amulet out of its bowl and his eyes rolled back in his head, leaving nothing but white. 

Duff’s eyes flickered back and forward between Axl and Izzy, gauging if this was normal, if something was going wrong, if they had to interfere. Axl knelt down outside the circle and unable to keep his distance, Duff joined him. 

“Should it be like this?” he asked as he watched Izzy’s heavy breathing. 

“Hush,” was the only reply he got. 

Duff prepared for the wait. 

Izzy still had one hand on the book, the other one, palm up, was holding the amulet. His head nodded gently, like a flower on its stem. His eyes, wide open, remained unseeing. Then something changed. At first, Duff wasn’t sure what it was, until he realized that Izzy’s breath was condensing in front of his mouth. 

“What …”

“Hush!” Axl repeated, testily this time. 

Something was wrong here and if Duff had been tense before, now he was turning nervous. Izzy’s lips had obtained a blue tint, frost covered his cheeks and ice crystal formed in his lashes. Unable to sit back and watch any longer, Duff reached out and touched his arm. 

The cold hit him right into the face. He opened his eyes and found himself on a frozen plain. Snow and ice stretched to the horizon in a featureless landscape. He couldn’t say where the land ended and the sky started, leave alone discover any markings in the vast monotony. A biting wind blew his hair back, cut into his skin and drove into his bones. 

Izzy stood about twenty steps away, facing into the other direction, barefoot and shirt-sleeved. Snow accumulated on his shoulders, icicles grew in his hair, but he didn’t seem to notice. Through the storm, a woman walked towards him. Her dress flowed around her willowy body like grey mist, her hair was blown away from a face that surpassed any beauty Duff had ever seen in his life. Features carved out of marble, polished and perfect and inhuman. 

“Izzy!” he yelled, but he had no voice at this place. 

Cold crept up from his feet, a biting, excruciating iciness. He tried to curl his toes against it, but was no longer able to move them. Snow piled up around his ankles, rose inch by inch, and all he could do was let it happen. 

The woman had reached Izzy. She was half a head taller than him and as devoid of colour as her surroundings. Her face expressed earnestness, yet the emotions she conveyed were more painful than the cold that had taken hold of his legs, numbed his thighs and now reached for his belly. Understanding. Sympathy. Acceptance. Whatever he had denied Izzy in his arrogance, she was offering it. 

She stretched out her arms in an open invitation. Her sleeves slipped back, revealing slender wrists and long fingered hands. 

“Izzy!” Duff wanted to yell again, but his face was frozen stiff. 

Motionless, Izzy looked at her and Duff prayed for him to do something, anything, to yell, push her away, kick snow at her. Instead, he moved his head a little, as if he had only now noticed that he had company. His face was as earnest and calm and beautiful as hers. Snow fell from his lashes as he blinked. Then he smiled a little and took her hand. 

Duff tried to scream, but the storm seized him, ripped him off his feet and hurled him through a tunnel of ice. It slapped against his face, again and again, and then he did hear his own voice as he gasped and whined and pleaded. His eyes flew open and there was Axl above him, backhanding him once more. 

“For God’s sake, Duff!” he yelled and pulled into a sitting position. “Stop touching magical stuff!”

Duff blinked and looked around. He was about a yard away from the circle. 

“Izzy!” he gasped, but Axl grabbed his arm and dragged him further away. 

“If you touch him again, I swear, I’ll knock you unconscious.”

“There was …,” he gasped “… there was a woman.”

Axl didn’t listen. Instead, he kept shaking him. 

“Do you have an idea what you just did? How dangerous that was? Hell, Duff, how did you plan to come back from that place?”

“I …,” Duff looked up. 

Axl was seething, but his eyes were wide and worried. 

“I pestered Izzy into taking me once. Once, Duff! And I pride myself on having powers enough. Still took me two days to find my way back.”

“Two days,” Duff whispered. 

“Two days! You? If we hadn’t pulled you out right away, I don’t think you’d ever have returned!”

“Two days?” Duff repeated. “There’s only snow there. And ice.”

“You don’t say!” Axl let go off him. He motioned at Izzy, at the icicles that were building up in his hair, the snow crystals that pulled his lashes down.

“He won’t survive two days in that cold! We’ve got to…”

Axl grabbed his arms again. “We can’t do anything! We touch him, we get pulled over.”

“But …” Desperately Duff searched for a solution. 

“He will come back,” Slash said. He was still sitting on the couch, looking at little unsettled, but not worried. “Izzy never loses his way. That’s why he can come and go as he pleases.”

Duff swallowed. 

‘And if he doesn’t want to come back?’ he almost asked. 

Eventually the first of the little bowls burned out, then the second, the third, until only the candles were left. All of a sudden, Izzy gasped. His lids fluttered shut, and when he opened his eyes, they were dark, his pupils blown wide. He sucked in air and exhaled painfully, and then he swayed and toppled over. 

Axl and Slash were at his side in an instant. They pulled him out of the circle, and Duff winced in sympathy as Axl slapped his face, once, twice.

“Stop that.” Izzy tried to fend him off, but his movements were too sluggish to be successful. 

“Get him a blanket!” Axl snapped. “And hot tea.”

Duff scrambled to his feet to follow the order. When he returned, Izzy sat on the couch, his body racked by barely controlled shivers, while Axl dripped port wine into him. 

“Here,” Duff said gently. 

He wrapped the blanket around Izzy’s shoulders, and pressed the hot mug into his stiff fingers. Axl laced it with something from another bottle. Rum, according to the smell. He wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to a sip or two himself. 

“Thanks.” 

Izzy shook so hard, Duff had to steady his hands to keep him spilling everything over himself. He thought back to when he had woken out of his almost transformation into a werewolf, and how Izzy had pulled the trembling out of him. 

“Can you …,” he asked. “I mean … transfer it to me?”

Izzy looked at him, not understanding at first, but then he smiled through shattering teeth. 

“It’s all right,” he rasped. His voice was harsh, as if he had to thaw his vocal cords before speaking. “I’ll be good in a minute. Was just a bit cold over there. Should have expected that.”

Duff sat down next to him and pulled the blanket more firmly around his shoulders, while Izzy sipped tea. 

“So what?” Axl asked after he had granted him about half a minute to compose himself. “Is she a witch?”

Izzy shook his head. 

“No.” He took a long gulp and closed his eyes as if swallowing was painful. Too hot, probably. “She isn’t pulling magic out of another realm either.”

“But … the lock … and the amulets …” Axl said. 

“It’s her own magic,” Izzy interrupted him. He coughed and took another sip. Colour was slowly returning to his cheeks and his lips regained their natural hue. “She doesn’t need the book to channel magic from somewhere else to our world. She needs it make ours work with hers. To use her magic in our realm. She’s not one of us. She’s Fae.”

“No!” Slash said vehemently. “No, that’s not possible. The gates are closed.”

Izzy squinted at him. “Want me to take you over to have a look yourself?”

“Are you sure?” Axl asked. 

“No doubt. She was cast out. Wouldn’t say why, but she can’t return. Stuck here.” His voice grew raspier, and he had to lube it with more tea. “But if her crime was severe enough to open the gates, then I assume something like high treason.”

“Not even the Fae can open the gates,” Slash repeated stubbornly. 

Izzy gave him a tired look. “Every court has a wanderer at hand. I’m sure the world council has access to one and the Fae will, too. If given a reason, they will open the gates. It’s not like she’s gaining anything by crossing over. Since the realms have been separated, she’s unable to renew her own energy after leaving her world. She will burn out and die. In the end, sending her here was meant to be slow execution. The book and using stolen magic, that’s her only chance at survival.”

“But she knows the spells,” Slash said. “She’d be stupid if she didn’t memorize them.”

“Doesn’t work like that,” Axl said. “As I told Duff, the book is more than a list of spells. It’s the tool that makes the spells come alive. No book, no spells.”

“Then what do we do?” Duff asked. 

“She made me an offer,” Izzy said. His fingers were getting steadier, but Duff still wanted to curl his hands around them to warm them up. “We had a nice little chat. I return the book, and she teaches me how to use it. Become her partner in crime. Said she felt my piceous core.”

Axl snorted. “What did you say?”

“Me?” Izzy handed the mug to him and pulled the blanket tightly around his skinny frame. “She’s not wrong, you know? We are kindred spirits of some sort.”

Duff wanted to contradict, but he had seen them together. She understood. Better than Duff himself ever would. He tried to be jealous, but only felt resignation. 

“I accepted of course.” 

He leant back and suddenly Duff held Izzy in his arms. He pressed his cold nose into the crook of his neck as if searching for warmth. 

“I’ll meet her at the church,” he said. “Tonight. After dusk.”


	24. Chapter 24

Duff felt useless. 

Izzy and Axl were locked in the laboratory to prepare their weapons arsenal. Slash had formed a pretzel on the couch and slept like only a cat could before imminent death. And Duff thought about packing sandwiches to contribute anything to this endeavour. Awesome. 

Instead, he went into the shop and looked for something that would be helpful in a fight. The only thing he knew well enough were the marbles. Unfortunately, while he was able to charge them, he had no idea how to release the energy. Which made them pretty much useless in his hands. He still stuffed a pouch into his pocket. 

He had suggested going early, be there before Mrs Prendergast, steal the vessel and get a head start, but for once, Axl and Izzy had both been against it. 

“Too many people,” Axl had said. “There’s always somebody in the church or at the graveyard. We can’t foresee what we will have to do, but major magic in front of witnesses is never a good idea.”

It was late afternoon when Izzy called him into his room. Duff closed the door behind himself and scrutinized the familiar chaos. It looked worse to him, but that might be his personal perception. Everything looked worse today. 

Izzy sat on the bed, running a whetstone along the blade of his sword. 

“Will you use that?” Duff asked. 

Izzy shrugged, not stopping in his motion. “It’s a precaution. We’re taking everything we might need.”

“Is it magical?”

Izzy flicked the sword around and took care of the second edge. He was fully engrossed in his task, the grinding sound of the stone running from the hilt to the tip in endless repetition the only noise between them. Duff sat in the uncomfortable chair and watched.

“Do you know how to wield a sword? In a fight, I mean?”

Who knew? He hadn’t expected Izzy to perform society dances either. 

“What kind of weapon do I get?”

“None.” Izzy stood up and balanced the sword in both hands before he returned it to its leather sheath. 

“But…”

“You will wait outside, Duff. This is what I needed to talk to you about.”

He laid the sword carefully onto the table. Duff decided to allow him time to purge whatever bullshit he planned to spout before he would give him a piece of his own mind. 

“The only reason you’re coming at all is that Axl needs you for the spell.”

“Because I’m the damaged one.” 

It was not the most glamorous position in their group, but what could he do? Somebody had to be the damaged one, it could as well be him. 

“The most logical hiding place for the receptacle is in the belltower. Axl and Slash will get it while I distract Mrs Prendergast. You will wait outside until Axl comes to fetch you.”

“Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense if I went up with Axl? Then he can undo the spell right there.”

“I don’t want you inside the church.”

“Ah.” Duff said. Of course not. “Luckily, it’s not up to you, is it?”

“It’s not…,” 

Izzy pulled his eyebrows together as if he was trying to make sense of an ancient inscription or was about to dissect some type of worm he had never encountered in his life. Did wizards dissect wildlife? It seemed to be more Axl’s metier. 

“No. Because you know what? That plan is asinine. For several reasons. One: from what Axl explained Mrs Prendergast needs to use her stolen energy to survive in our world. Means, it’s not simply stored in some vessel in the belltower. It’s fuelling her powers. Which is why she wants to meet you at the church, right? Not because she magnanimously decided to take you to the hiding place of her biggest treasure, but because she wants to have all her forces at hand should she need them, right?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Two: The moment Axl releases her stolen goods, he has cut off her power source and what energy is still left should return to its owners’ aura, right? Because that’s what energy does?”

“Yes, but still…”

“So, undoing the spell will wipe the legs out from under her. Having Axl run up and down belltowers while I’m hiding behind a gravestone is a total waste of time. I’ll go with him, and he can do it right there up in the tower.”

“Duff, you’re …”

“Three: What is Slash doing in the belltower? Axl needs me, a bag full of amulets and the book. Or is cat hair part of the spell?”

“Duff you have no …”

“So. Slash should be helping you. With that … distracting thing. How do you want to distract her? Play your charms or hit her with that sword?”

Izzy might think that playing his charms and hitting people with deadly weapons was one and the same. 

“I thought, maybe first one and then the other?”

“Really, your plan has holes like this Swiss cheese Axl keeps buying.”

“Duff!” Izzy said. “This is not up for discussion.”

“No,” Duff replied. “Because I made my decision.”

“Goddammit, Duff!” Izzy’s voice gained volume, but he wasn’t yelling yet. “You know what? I don’t have time for this. You’re fired.”

“I’m … what?” he stood up from the uncomfortable chair. There were moments when one had to take full advantage of one’s superior height. 

“Fired.”

Izzy stood right in front of him, trying to compensate for his shortness with squared shoulders and dark glaring. Not so long-ago Duff would have caved under the pretence of ruthlessness until he was at least three inches shorter than Izzy. Not anymore. 

“You heard that right. You are no longer my assistant. And I only take people on hunts who are working for me or are my best childhood friend or … some random shapeshifter who moved in. Nobody else.”

“I’m fired?” Duff asked. 

“Indeed.”

“You know what Izzy?” 

Duff forced out the breath he had held in. His hands clenched and unclenched by his side while he tried to come up with a suitable retort. Anything to take the bastard a peg down, wipe the infuriating superiority off his face, and get it into his granite block of a skull that his lone avenger complex would get him killed. There was one method that would take care of all of those aspects and Duff was furious and desperate enough, to apply it. He took a deep breath, grabbed Izzy’s head with both hands, and kissed him. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Izzy’s lips were rough and dry and didn’t do anything to welcome the offer. Then a brutal shove against Duff chest made him stumble backwards. 

“What was that?” Izzy asked.

If he had thought, kissing Izzy would be enough to sweep him off his feet and have him admit undying love, he had been wrong. 

It was a small comfort, that he didn’t sound disgusted. Or looked angry. He appeared completely gobsmacked. And to be honest, smacking him in the gob had been the second idea Duff had considered in case this plan wouldn’t work out. 

“Axl said I should take the lead,” he stammered. “Because you … wouldn’t.”

That statement didn’t bolster up his position at all. Izzy still stared. Hell, he had known Axl had it wrong. Why had he listened to somebody who was in love with a cat? Thank God he had already been laid off because any minute he would get his ass handed to him. Would Lady Elvira take him although she had to buy him a new uniform? 

“You’re still fired,” Izzy said. And then he grabbed Duff’s face and kissed him back full force. 

Duff stumbled under the assault and landed in the uncomfortable chair. Squeezed in between the too high armrests there was nothing he could do when Izzy climbed on top of him. One bony knee was forced between his thighs and, yes, he would have spread them eagerly if there had been an inch or two to do so. As it was, he was clamped into a jaw vice while the chair dangerously started to tip backwards. 

Shortly before they broke both their necks in a tragic accident, Izzy backed off. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, and he panted heavily as he looked down from about one and a half inch afar. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked as if he hadn’t been the one who had pounced on him in the most uncomfortable place for wanton behaviour Duff could imagine. 

“I’m fired,” he said and tried to shift under the weight in his lap. “I don’t have to answer that.”

“You’re re-employed. Answer.”

“We should relocate to the bed.” If he was engaging in wicked debauchery, he wanted to be comfortable. 

“No, we shouldn’t. Your aura is damaged.” Izzy laid a hand onto his chest and Duff felt the emanater pulse frantically under his shirt. “Cool down. Now.”

Easier said than done, Duff thought, but when Izzy climbed off his lap and perched half of his backside onto the table, he managed to will his arousal down. 

“Are you angry?” he asked. 

Izzy snorted. “Do people often react like that when they are angry at you?”

“Now and then. I have a strange effect on people.”

“I noticed.” Izzy ran a hand through his hair. “This is not the right moment.”

“Probably not.” Duff stood up. Anything to get out of this stupid chair. “Will there be a right moment?” 

Izzy’s gaze shifted to the side. 

“I … should say ‘no’, but I suppose I gave myself away, huh?”

“A little bit.” 

‘Take the lead,’ Axl’s words rang in his ears, and, damned, that crazy redhead was right. Izzy was planning his escape, but this time he wouldn’t let him. 

He stepped nearer until he was pressing Izzy against the table. 

“You should have agreed on dawn as meeting time.” He reached up and cupped Izzy’s face, ran his thumb over his cheekbone, and waited to be pushed away. Izzy leant into his hand and Duff took it as permission to nip at the other side of his jaw. “Then we would get our last night on earth.”

Izzy chuckled. He pressed a hand against Duff’s head before he pulled him back by his hair. 

“Wrong moment,” he repeated. 

Duff made a step backwards. “If we survive today… no more excuses?”

“Depends.” He gave him a sharp look. “Axl? Why are you discussing me with Axl?”

“He kind of …,” Duff tried to remember when Axl had started to get involved. “It was the ruminator,” he finally said. “Made me blurt everything out.”

Izzy groaned. “Means he knows all the details of your … unfortunate infatuation?”

“Not too many. I just … blabbed around incoherently.”

“You need to learn to recognize when you’re influenced by magic,” Izzy said. 

“That possible?”

“Yes. Takes time and practice, but, yes. And I still don’t want you inside the church.”

“I know.” Duff shrugged. “I don’t want you inside the church either. Still, you’re going.”

“Because it’s my job.”

“I know,” Duff repeated. “But as you re-employed me: it’s my job, too.”

“In that case…,”

“No!” Duff held up a hand. “You’re not firing me again.”

For a moment Izzy seemed to consider doing just that, but then he snorted and averted his head. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Come on, let’s find out what kind of weapon might work for you.”

+++

Not much later, Duff walked down the staircase with a disappointing dagger added to his battle arsenal. Izzy had questioned him regarding his experiences with firearms, thrusting weapons, stabbing weapons, and close combat. When he was done, Duff was sure he would be relegated to hiding behind a gravestone again. Instead, in a barely concealed attempt to be supportive, Izzy had handed him the dagger, not without repeated instructions to not try and use it. 

When the sun was setting outside, they assembled in the shop and waited for Izzy. Somehow, he was always the last one to join. Axl had the magic-lined satchel hung off one shoulder, and a second, bigger one, over the other. Slash brought only himself to the fight and when Izzy opened the door, the sword was strapped across his back. Duff had hoped for the non-magical miracle rifle, or maybe the shotgun, but there was nothing. 

“Ready?” he asked, and Duff and Slash nodded. 

Axl however, stood silently. Duff couldn’t compare himself to Izzy’s level of sensitivity, but he was able to feel the tension that suddenly wafted through the room.

“You said it was the only bottle.” Axl’s voice was clipped and sharp like ice chipped off a block. 

“Looks like I lied,” Izzy replied. “Ready?”

“No!” Axl put down one of his bags. 

“Don’t fret.” Izzy tried to shoulder past him, but Axl blocked the door. “Only enough to steady my hands. I can’t go in there if I’m shaking.”

“You shouldn’t go in there when you have taken laudanum,” Axl repeated. “You shouldn’t have lied to me either.”

“That would have been best of course,” Izzy said with a sneer. “Yet here we are, aren’t we?” 

He didn’t look drugged to Duff. On the contrary, he appeared more in control of himself than he had been all morning. 

“This is not the right moment.”

“It is never the right moment with you,” Axl said. “Every time I think I have finally started to get you, you pull some shit like this.”

They stared at each other, and for a moment, Duff feared they would start a fight. Then Axl conceded. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “Nothing to do about this anymore. But when we’re back …”

“I know,” Izzy said. “I promise, when this is over, I will lay low for a while and clean up.”

There was a distinct feeling of glum overshadowing the operation. When they reached the coastline, the sun was delivering a last firework before it drowned at the horizon. Duff almost expected vapours to rise out of the ocean. 

They waited until it had turned fully dark, then they made the last mile towards the church. The building lay grey and uninviting in front of them, surrounded by moss-covered gravestones and the crumbly old drywall. Izzy opened the gate and headed for the main entrance. Axl took them around to enter through the backdoor. 

“Who would have thought that growing up at this wretched place would come in handy one day,” he muttered when he picked the lock. 

Duff would have preferred to keep an eye on Izzy, but for once the reasoning to stay with Axl made sense to him. 

“No magical reinforcements this time?” he asked when Axl needed less than ten seconds to open the door. 

“No. She’s not interested in keeping us outside. She wants us locked in with her.”

Duff swallowed. Did Mrs Prendergast truly believe in Izzy coming on his own? Was this all some elaborate trap to kill them in one big coup? Izzy had shrugged when he had asked him the question and Axl had been equally indecisive. 

They entered a short corridor that led to the vestry, a few storage rooms, and the spiral staircase up to the belltower. Axl lit one of the magic torches and it cast a pale, blue light onto the rough stone wall. 

“Go ahead,” Axl said. 

Duff still stopped to watch how he laid out a row of crystals on the bottom step. Then he squatted down and started talking in that foreign wizard language. It was an especially long spell, but when he was done, a wall of light blocked the entrance. 

“Will that stop her?” Duff asked. 

Axl shrugged. “Might. It definitely notified her of our arrival.”

“But … Izzy!” 

“Izzy knows what we’re doing here,” Axl said. “Now, up!”

For once, Whittlingsfield’s omnipresent uphill roads that their benefits. Despite his aura energy deficit, Duff was fit enough to manage half of the staircase without getting out of breath. He had no idea how many rounds they had turned in the square block of stone when they entered a small landing from which the bells would be rung. A ladder reached up to the next level, a construction of countless beams and platforms at the top of the belfry. 

Duff looked down over the railing, made out the aisle, and further away, the apsis. Candles burned along the walls, he smelled incense and was reminded of the countless church services of his youth. A woman stood in front of the altar, dressed in grey, white hair flowing down her back. She was as beautiful as she had been on the wintery plane.

As he bowed further over the railing, Duff spotted Izzy. He stood at the main entrance, hat pushed a little back and hands in his pockets. 

“Hi,” Izzy said. His voice echoed but reached up to him without any problems. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet.”

“Duff!” Axl snapped and pulled at his arm. “Up! We’ve got our own job to do.”

He reminded himself that undoing the spell would be the biggest help they had to offer, and so he followed. The ladder took them through a trapdoor and finally, they stood next to the bells. The church had six in different sizes, each of them attached to a wooden wheel. 

“Where now?” Slash asked. 

“I have no idea!” Axl looked around frantically. “Izzy’s the one with the scary senses. Just … search. Everybody takes a corner and moves from there.”

Duff took the one next to himself but somehow was unhappy with the decision. It didn’t make any sense, one corner was as good as the others, so why did he absolutely want to shove Slash away, at best down the trapdoor, and claim his? 

Irritated with himself he returned to knocking on floorboards and feeling up the wall for cracks. After a few minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up from where he was kneeling and went over to Slash. 

“Let me,” he said and pushed him to the side. 

“What?” Slash gave him an annoyed look. 

“I just …” 

Duff shook his head. His fingers scrambled over the wall, searching for something that had to be there, he knew it, it had to … 

“Here,” he whispered. 

One of the stones felt slightly different. The mortar had been scratched away ad when he tried to get a fingernail underneath, it wobbled. He wished he had a knife, and then remembered the dagger. Maybe this wasn’t its intended purpose, but better than nothing. 

“How did you do that?” Slash asked. 

“I … have no idea,” Duff grunted while he forced the tip of the blade into the gap and worked the stone out of its place. Finally, it came loose enough to squeeze a finger in, and then he was able to pull it out. “I just knew.”

Not knew, needed. Up to a point where he would do anything to satisfy his desire. Behind the stone was a cavity and at its back stood a bottle, one of the sanded types Axl had in his laboratory. It looked empty, yet all of his attention, his wishes, his goals in life, honed in onto this flagon. 

“Don’t touch it!” Axl yelled when Duff wanted to pull it out. “Let me.”

Hesitantly, Duff obeyed. He wanted to touch it, more than anything. Nothing in his life was of bigger importance. He had found it, so how did Axl usurp the right to take it from him? 

“Axl?” Slash said while Axl reached inside. Duff felt an urge to kill him for touching what was his. “Something’s wrong with him.”

“No, it isn’t.” 

Axl pulled out the bottle and Duff jumped forward to rip it out of his hands. Slash grabbed him from behind and forced him backwards. They tussled and stumbled, and then they fell against one of the bells. 

The sound was deafening. Duff had to stop his struggles and found himself on his knees, covering his ears. The bell swung back and tolled again. He feared his head would explode. 

He saw Slash’s mouth move as he yelled something, but he couldn’t make out anything through the ringing in his ears. Axl knelt on the ground, the bottle still in one hand, his body curled over it as he tried to cover both ears with one arm. 

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, when the bell was quiet again. His voice came from far away through a haze of droning noises. “This will call the fucking sexton on the plan. If not the rector himself.”

Duff didn’t care. He reached for the bottle again, but Slash was faster. He pushed him down and sat on top of him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he forced out as he caught Duff’s flailing hands and pressed them into the floorboards. 

“Part of the energy in here is his,” Axl said. “Being so close is getting him a bit worked up.”

“A bit?” Slash asked exasperated. “Then hurry up and return it to him.”

There were noises from downstairs now, a crash, followed by a screeching sound. They weren’t the only ones fighting over the bottle. 

Duff took deep breaths and tried to calm down. What Axl had said made sense. He had to get a grip on himself, that was all. He thought about Axl’s spell, how the attraction had lost its urgency the moment he had stopped giving in it. 

He schooled his thoughts, concentrated on the greed that had taken over his mind, and forced himself to take a step back from it. Then another. And another. Slowly, the overwhelming craving dwindled to a desire he was confident, he had under control. 

“I think I’m good,” he said after a few minutes.

“Are you sure?” Slash asked.

Duff thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

Slash sat back and let go of him. The longing was still there, but now that he knew its origin, he was able to deal with it. 

“What’s taking so long?” Slash asked when Axl was still poring over the book instead of saying incantations and burning pungent stuff in tiny bowls. 

“This is a bit more complicated than fiddling a mouse out of a hole,” Axl said. “Shut up and let me think. We won’t get a second chance if I botch this up.”

Duff was once more relegated to silent waiting, which alerted him to the fight at the bottom floor. The noises became louder. What were they doing? Had the sword fight erupted? He hadn’t seen Mrs Prendergast carry a sword, but who knew? Maybe she had been hiding it under her dress. 

He looked at Axl, but nothing was happening there. 

A scream rang up, angry, and pained. 

Izzy.

Duff was on his feet and down the ladder before anybody could stop him. He bowed over the gallery and saw Izzy flat on his back. He had crashed into a pew but didn’t look hurt. At least he was already scrambling to his feet. 

Mrs Prendergast stood in front of the altar, one hand raised, but now she started walking towards him in slow, self-confident steps. As if her superiority was a given, and she could crush the annoying little wizard any time she wanted. No need to hurry, when it was still fun to play with the prey. 

Izzy was up now, sitting on his haunches and pulling something out of his pockets. Crystals, Duff noticed when he laid them out the way Axl had done on the first step to the belltower. He remembered that it had taken half an eternity to activate them and if these were of Axl’s making, then Izzy would hardly be faster in getting them to work. 

Mrs Prendergast came nearer. Duff thought frantically about a way to stop her. Throwing something onto her head sounded good. A bell for example, but cutting one loose would take far too long. A quick check of his surroundings didn’t produce anything helpful. The dagger was useless from up here and the only other item left was the bag of marbles. 

He pulled them out of his pocket and took one. It lit up immediately, making him feel slightly faint. A reminder that he depleted his aura further over the last weeks than he had been aware of. The emanater pulsed faster, trying unsuccessfully to pull the energy out of the marble. And this wasn’t helping him any because he had no idea how to unleash the power and send it in the right direction.

‘Can’t touch it with wood now that it’s activated,’ he suddenly remembered somebody saying. ‘Wood reacts with pretty much everything. Iron, too. Would make it explode.’

Axl had said it, on his first day, when he had lost a marble under a cupboard. 

The church floor consisted of stone slabs, but the pews were wood. He aimed and tossed the marble down. It hit the pew right next to Mrs Prendergast and, yes, it did explode. Heavier than one little marble should. Quickly he activated another one. And another. 

Mrs Prendergast jumped to the side and looked around, forgetting Izzy for the moment. The explosions weren’t enough to deter her, but they were bothersome and might gain him a few seconds. Duff tossed another marble and the pew started to smoke. Now she had spotted him on the gallery and lifted a hand into his direction. A beam of energy shot up. 

Duff hurled himself away from the railing, landed on the floor, and covered his head with both arms. Wood splintered and rained down on his back. When he felt safe to come up again, half of the banister was blown away. But Izzy had activated the crystals and the wall of light had reached the ceiling. 

He peered down again and saw Izzy looking up, searching for him. When their eyes met, he grinned and gave him the thumbs up. Duff would have grinned back, but suddenly he felt very lightheaded. His legs refused service, and he sat on the floor. Above him, he noticed Axl’s face in the ceiling opening. 

“Come back!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got it and now I need your damaged ass.”

“Can’t!” Duff breathed out. In fact, he would faint any moment. 

“Oh, shit,” Axl said. “Slash, we need to get everything down. Our idiot is leaking all over the place.”

Duff wanted to retort something suitable, but he felt not up to the task. Instead, he closed his eyes and rolled up on the floor. He blinked when Slash’s hand cupped his chin and lifted his face. 

“Only a second,” he whispered. “Keep going, you hear me?”

Duff nodded. Or tried to. He wasn’t sure. 

One of Axl’s hands pressed into his forehead, brutally, as if he was pulling his brain out of his skull. It almost made him fight in protest. Somehow, he preferred Izzy’s more defined way of messing around with his aura. 

There were words, and then he was sure that Axl’s goal was to crack his head open and scoop his brain out as a secret ingredient for the spell. Not that it mattered anymore. Pain. Bright, blinding pain exploded inside his head, and the world turned black. 

He was torn out of his unconscious bliss by another act of brutality. Somebody was hitting him. Why was everybody always hitting him? He complained and tried to stop the assault. His arms flailed around and then hands pulled him upright. 

“Looks good,” Axl said inches away from his face. Duff scooted backwards. “But Izzy should probably make a final analysis. When he’s done down there.”

Izzy. 

Barely conscious again, Duff scrambled to his feet. They were still on the landing, and he looked down through the hole in the railing. The pew he had peppered with marbles was burning, flames licking at neighbouring benches. The energy barrier was still upright, but Mrs Prendergast was gone. Instead, another woman stood there, shorter and plumper. It took him a moment, but then he realized that it was the amulet vendor from the port. 

Slowly, deliberately, Izzy stepped on one of the crystals. The energy wall crashed down and sizzled off. 

“No!” Mrs Prendergast said when Izzy pulled the sword out of its sheath. “No, think about it. We can still…”

In one flowing motion, Izzy moved the sword forward and balanced it in front of his body. Duff was tempted to close his eyes. Watching a beheading, no matter how necessary, was not his idea of fun. But he wanted to be a wizard’s assistant and if this was a wizard’s job, then watching was what he had to do. 

“You don’t have to…” Mrs Prendergast said. 

She was several steps away, definitely out of reach of the weapon, but Izzy made no moves to approach her. Instead, he lifted the sword, pointed the tip downwards, and rammed it into the ground. 

Time stood still. 

The world, as Duff had known, seized to exist. 

A crack opened in the ground, small at first, but widening fast. Light, white, and devastating crept fog-like out of the earth. 

“Fuck me sideways,” Axl whispered in awe. “And you said he was weak!”

“I had no idea,” Slash gasped. His eyes were wide, panicky almost. 

“What’s happening?” Duff asked. “What?” 

He grew frantic, torn between running down the million stairs and not allowing Izzy out of his eyes. Izzy, who was still grinding the sword into the floor, forcing the gap to open wider, twisting it until a crack ran in a direct line to Mrs Prendergast. 

She yelled and jumped, tried to escape it, but there was nowhere to escape for her. Wherever she went, it followed her. Light licked at her feet, reached for her, caught hold, and pulled her screaming and fighting into the abyss. 

Izzy waited another moment, then he pulled the sword out and returned it to the sheath on his back. The rift closed, sucking up every little bit of white until all that was left was an uneven, charred scar along the church aisle. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Duff forced out. “What was that?”

“Did you know this?” Slash asked. 

“No!” Axl growled. “The bastard never told me. Which I’ll kill him for.”

“Never told you what?” Duff exclaimed. He was slowly getting angry. 

“Izzy,” Axl said, pointing down at the figure who now turned around and walked past the burning pews towards the gate. “Is a goddamned wanderer between worlds.”

Duff was still a bit dazed when they had made it down the staircase and were running around the church. Izzy stood in the graveyard, but he wasn’t alone. A man paced up and down in front of him, talking animatedly. Axl had been at the front, but now he faltered and stopped for a moment. Then, with slow deliberate steps, he closed up to Izzy. 

The stranger fell silent and looked at him, shocked, as if he was seeing an apparition.

Duff quickly joined them, not sure what exactly was wrong, but unwilling to let them face it alone. They had saved how many lives? But if he had learned something, then that gratefulness was rarely extended to the magical community. 

Izzy had pushed his hands into his pockets and pulled his hat forward. He silently looked at Axl and for a moment, their eyes met in mutual understanding. 

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, still staring at Axl as if he was something dead and buried that had crawled out of its grave. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

“Good thing I’m a wizard then, and not a witch,” Axl replied. “And if you give me ten seconds, I’m sure I can quote some scripture that will demand the death sentence for you, too.”

Izzy made a step to the side until their arms were almost touching. 

Duff spotted something white at the man’s neck. The vicar. Vicar Bailey. Axl’s stepfather. 

Now all they needed was Slash shifting into cat and jumping on Axl’s shoulder right before the good man’s eyes. To keep things from getting totally out of hand, Duff made a decision. He pushed past the others. 

“Thank God you’re here, sir,” he said. “Did you hear the bell? Are you on your own? Where are the firefighters?”

“Firefighters?” Vicar Bailey looked at him in confusion. 

“Yes! We noticed a group of people running out of the church and checked. Just to make sure everything was all right, you know. Only it wasn’t. Arson! Inside the church. Thank God we were here to notice it right away. We rang the bell. Did you hear the bell? But if you’re here on your own, I’m afraid …”

He pointed at one of the windows. The flicker of flames was visible from the outside. 

Suddenly the vicar became alive, his disappointment of a stepson forgotten. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed and ran for the door. 

“Got nothing to do with God,” Axl muttered. 

“Maybe ring the bell again, sir!” Duff yelled after him. “I think the tower might still be safe. But not for much longer!”

“Come on,” Axl said. “Let’s go home. I’ve already spent more time here than I ever wanted to.”

They hadn’t gotten far before the bell rang out again, loud and frantically, all over Whittlingsfield. And when they reached Stakesby Road, still hours away from dawn, the orange glow could be spotted over the roofs of Foxhill.


	25. Chapter 25

Duff had expected to feel different. Proud and exhilarated about their victory, not … drained. And worried. It was his fault they had called Axl’s stepfather on the plan because he hadn’t been able to control himself around the energy bottle. A burning church and three magical people at the crime scene, including the vicar’s estranged son. They could claim vandals all they wanted. Nobody would believe them. 

When they were once more assembled in the library, Axl brought out the whisky bottle. This time he didn’t try to limit their consumption. 

“Get drunk,” he said. “We deserve it.”

“Will we get into trouble?” Duff asked. Getting drunk sounded like a very good idea to him. 

“What for?” Izzy asked. 

He sat in his armchair, looking … worn. Duff had noticed on their way home that his steps had gotten more and more sluggish, and now he hung there like a ragdoll. One that had been carelessly tossed aside. He couldn’t say if it was due to the aftermath of their recent adventure or because the laudanum was wearing off. Maybe both. 

“Burning down the church?”

“You are the one who burned the church down, not ‘we’,” Izzy said, but he smiled a little as if the whole situation was amusing and not worrying. “So, who’s the devil’s spawn now, huh?” 

That was true, of course, and any other time, Duff would have worried about his eternal soul. Now, however, he was worried about his friends. 

“You don’t have to be so smug about it,” he said. 

“Keep calm, Duff.” Izzy closed his eyes while letting whisky run through his throat. “I might have dropped an obliviscior and with the way he was pacing up and down he couldn’t avoid stepping on it.”

Axl broke into laughter until he had to lean against Slash to not topple off the couch. He sounded not only amused but relieved, like a boy who had just realized that he would get away with having emptied the cookie jar. 

Duff felt relieved, too, simply by association, but while the problem was apparently taken care of, it was a bit embarrassing that he had to remind them again and again about his ignorance regarding all things magical. 

“A what?”

“It’s a crystal,” Axl said when he had calmed down. “If you step onto it, you end with a hole in your memory of about an hour. Just thinking about it. That bastard always accused me of bewitching him, when I never did anything at all. And now this.” He turned to Izzy. “I didn’t know you brought any.”

Izzy shrugged. “I didn’t want to take any chances. I mean, you can hope there’ll be nobody around when you’re about to perform really forbidden acts of magic. But you shouldn’t count on it.”

“Which brings us to the next big issue.” Axl bent forward and rested his elbows onto his knees. “Explain. And not some evasive bullshit, the whole story.”

Izzy sighed. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’m really tired, and …”

“No,” Axl interrupted him. “By tomorrow you will have come up with a whitewashed version. Spill, man. We fought this goddamn fight with you, we deserve the truth.”

Duff silently agreed. He was bursting with curiosity but knew just as well that Izzy only ever volunteered half of what was relevant. If they wanted him to talk, now was the best opportunity. 

“All right,” Izzy said. He watched his drink for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “The first time it happened, I was about eight. It’s how I escaped from London. I was scared out of my mind and I think that opened a portal. Extreme emotions can do that. My memories are a bit hazy. No, Axl, stop rolling your eyes, they really are. I do remember walking through a foreign land and meeting strange people who were very nice to me. I have the suspicion that they tempered with my memory. They tend to live in the presence, over there, past and future hold very little meaning. Getting rid of a bunch of bad memories wouldn’t have been a big thing for them.”

“They … what? Wiped your memory and returned you to earth?”

Izzy shrugged. “They meant well, I suppose. In a healing kind of sense. If you can’t live with certain memories, why have them at all? Unfortunately, it took care of pretty much all of my childhood too. Anyway. When I was back in our world, I was way outside of London. Probably saved my life. But I only found out much, much later. I had these snippets in my brain and I could never say which were true, which were dreams, and which were pure imagination, but at eight years old, my mind was pretty much a blank slate.”

“So, all this time, you really didn’t know what you were?” Slash asked. “I heard that every wanderer has mixed blood and that they can open the gates because other worlds are calling out to them. I mean, if you don’t remember your parents, did you find out what you are?”

“Fae,” Axl said. “And that’s the first gate you opened, right?”

Slash gave him a surprised look, but Izzy nodded. 

“How did you figure?” he asked. 

“Easy.” Axl proudly sat up. “You were able to sense Mrs Prendergast. You could feel her magic. You shouldn’t be able to if you were just plain human. You do because it’s not only her magic. It’s yours, too. Fae. It’s also why the book is so … so … irresistible for you. It spans different worlds. Would help you connect your two disconnected sides. Which I get the feeling, you’re keeping apart on purpose. Aligning them, that would make you immensely powerful. And when you met her, she realized it too, didn’t she?”

“She noticed something,” Izzy said. “I had my suspicions, which is why I wanted to meet her first. She recognized the Fae side of me and thought I was displaced, just as she was herself.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to correct her, did you?”

“Not really. It’s why she believed I might join forces with her.”

“Looks like she was in for a bit of disappointment,” Duff said. 

“A little bit.” Izzy smiled at him. “Wasn’t until the church that she understood what I really was. That I was planning to send her back. I mean, she had been exiled as a form of execution. I doubt they will welcome her with open arms. But back to … the past.”

He looked unhappy and if Duff hadn’t been so curious, he would have told him that if it was too painful, he didn’t have to tell. He almost did but bit his tongue at the last moment. 

“When my powers grew in, they never fully aligned. Everybody only ever said ‘give it time, you’re still a child, it’s difficult for everybody’. But that wasn’t the problem. You remember that I had nightmares?”

“Hard to forget,” Axl said. “Which all the opium you smoked to get over them.”

Izzy didn’t react to the quip. 

“Some of them were just that, but I also saw glimpses of other worlds. I knew those weren’t dreams, but they weren’t visions either. So what was it? And then I had something magical inside me that I couldn’t access. It felt like tendrils that reached into every part of my body. When I tried to pick at one, it was out of reach. It was … frustrating, mainly, but often scary. Like a parasite that ate its way through my brain.”

Axl nodded as if he understood. He probably did. He had struggled with his own magical abilities before Miss Agatha had picked him up and delivered some guidance. Izzy might have needed just that, but if he was one of a kind, then guidance would have been hard to come by. 

“I even went to Miss Agatha about it.”

“You did?” Axl asked surprised. “She never told me.”

“Yes. But she was so … so …”

“Practical, straight forward, down to earth?”

Izzy chuckled. “Exactly. She gave me this really worried look. As if I was losing my mind. Didn’t help that I had started smoking opium and was sometimes a bit …”

“Loopy.”

“Maybe a tiny bit.” 

Izzy was in an unusually mellow mood, Duff thought. As if it felt good to finally come clean. To Axl. The rest of them were bystanders. 

“But that was only the beginning. It all came to a head when Mr Stradlin died. The months leading up to that…” He looked ill at the memory. “I had not been in a good place before and suddenly I had to take care of everything. I didn’t know how to pay the rent or the apothecary or … anything, really. Sometimes it was a fight putting food on the table. It grew over my head and when it was over, I just had to leave. I should apologize for that, shouldn’t I?” He looked at Axl again. 

Axl took a moment to mull it over. 

“No,” he said eventually. “I mean, yes, you should, because you were being an asshole with how you just vanished, but, no. You don’t have to. I get it. Can’t say I got it back then, but from today’s perspective … I do. Doesn’t mean I won’t whack your ass if you ever try something like that again.”

“In that case.” Izzy moved his glass in slow circles before he took a sip. “I was in a bit of a turmoil, I suppose. Enough of a turmoil to open another gate. This time I stayed for a while. And I learned how to access this other side of me. And how to control it. That was … helpful.”

Axl snorted. “I can imagine. So those three years you were gone? You were playing around in Fae land?”

Izzy nodded. “Helped me get off the opium, too,” he said slyly. “Because they don’t have any.”

“I’m sure they have other types of mind-altering substances,” Axl replied. 

“A few.” Izzy chuckled but quickly turned sober. “For a while, I thought I’d just stay. Things were easier over there. As I said, they live in the presence. No past, no future. It suited me. At least at that point in my life. Also, for the first time, I understood what I was. I was going somewhere magic wise. I learned how to cross dimensions, time, I mean …”

“Time?” Duff exclaimed. 

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Izzy said. “Really not. Plays havoc with the digestion.”

“So, you what?” Slash asked. “Can look in the future now?”

“It’s not that simple,” Izzy replied. “Time is multilinear and it's really easy to get tangled and not come back to where you started. I meant what I said. I don’t do it. Never.” 

“If everything was better over there, what made you come back?” Axl asked, sounding a bit offended. 

Izzy needed a moment to think about it. “They started to develop certain expectations. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the training, but all of a sudden, I was pushed into a position I didn’t want to be in. Having a wanderer at hand is … practical. And because there are so few…I didn’t want to be … like an asset or maybe a status symbol. Or just a tool. But that’s what you inevitably become when you’re … Let’s say, it’s why I’m not keen on making this public knowledge in this world either.”

Duff thought back to their ghoul hunting beer when Izzy had told him how relieved he had been about Axl taking over the role as the official wizard in Foxhill. Izzy didn’t seem to deal well with expectations in general. 

“Also, I didn’t belong,” he added. “I don’t belong here either. I suppose that’s part of the nature of the whole thing. But when I thought about where I felt most at home, that has always been Foxhill.”

“You mean…” Axl said. “You can live where ever you want, right? All the places in the world? Any world? And you choose … Foxhill?”

“Hey!” Slash exclaimed. “I did, too.”

“Because of me,” Axl replied as if it was a given that people should choose to live in his vicinity.

“How many realms have you seen?” Duff asked, still not sure he was able to grasp the idea. He had dreamed of America when Izzy hopped between places beyond imagination. 

“Just ours and theirs,” Izzy said. “And maybe one or two others, but only shortly. And not on my own.”

Duff didn’t miss that he wasn’t specifying which realm exactly ‘theirs’ was. If the old stories were true, then there was more than one fairy realm. 

“Opening a portal takes a lot of energy. You don’t do it on a whim. And you never know what else might slip through. There’s a reason the gates were closed. And, honestly, it’s better this way.”

“They really taught you something, huh?” Axl said. “Getting you to understand that action has consequences must have been more difficult than teaching you weird, outlandish magic. Which reminds me: have you ever used it on me? Would I notice?”

Izzy gave him a dirty look. 

“The first thing they taught me was that you can only ever use the magic of the world you are in. Which is why I can’t fully reconcile my two sides. It’s not possible. At least not without some serious dose of black magic. By the help of a little black book, for example. Doing so will lead to chaos and destruction. To answer your question: no, I have never applied Fae magic in our realm. Until today. To open a gate, you have to. Another reason why you should not do it on a whim. Also, opening a gate leaves traces. Just think about what Tremblay will say.”

“Oh, God!” Slash covered his face in his hands. “And here I thought you were the safe one. I suppose you’d be a fair bit past the power limit they have set on Whittlingsfield, huh? What would they even do?”

“I have no idea,” Izzy said. “And I’d like to live my life in blissful ignorance. So. All of you. No word to anybody. Not ever.”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Axl asked. 

“Did you leave traces?” Duff asked worriedly. “At the church? By opening a gate?”

Izzy looked torn. “Traces? Because I performed some huge, totally forbidden, world-shattering magical ritual? Yes, Duff, I did leave traces. Like an army marched through. My hope is that nobody can make head or tail out of it. Might help that the church burned down over it. Churches hold a lot of magic of their own. It should muddy the waters.”

“You should leave town for a while,” Axl said. “Let a bit of that muddy water run under the bridge.”

“That actually makes sense.”

“Yes. Take Duff and go to the cottage.”

Izzy gave him another, even dirtier look. “Stay out of my love life, Axl.”

Axl remained unimpressed. “Must be my motherly instincts. I only want what’s best for you.”

“Right. Mother somebody else. How about Slash?”

“Definitely not!” Slash exclaimed. 

Now Axl did look offended. 

“What about the sword?” Duff asked in a desperate attempt to get the conversation away from Izzy’s and, as a consequence, his own love life. “The first times you didn’t have a sword, did you?”

“If I want to do it on purpose, I need to channel the energy, somehow. I use the sword, but there are other items that would likely work, too. It was a present from somebody I feel a lot of respect for, which is why I’m kind of attached to it. So, before you ask, Duff, yes, it is magical, but it’s not our magic. In this world, it’s just a sword. And coming to the end: as I said, opening portals takes a lot of energy. Really, really a lot. Therefore, if I have answered everything to everybody’s satisfaction, I will now go to bed.”

“It’s likely the opium crash,” Axl said. 

Izzy made a rude gesture. “We’ll talk the next time you have opened the gates between realms.”

“I knew he would be awfully smug about it,” Axl said when Izzy was gone. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“And now?” Duff asked. 

“Now?” Axl looked at him as if he was stupid. “Now you pack, and tomorrow we’ll ship the two of you off to the cottage.” 

+++

Duff pushed himself up onto his elbows in an attempt to take a bit of weight off the man under him. Izzy made some complaining noises, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him flush against his chest. 

“I’m going to crush you,” Duff gasped. 

He should stop for a moment, sort their positions, make sure, Izzy was happy. Instead, he pushed forward, getting as deep as was possible.

“Crush me then?” Izzy replied equally breathlessly. “Come on! Stop being so damned considerate. Just do your worst.”

“You’re impossible,” Duff managed between grunts, but he doubled his efforts and did do his worst. Or rather his best because he noticed something sticky building up between them. 

Izzy moaned out his orgasm and the filthy sounds were enough to send him over the edge, too. He collapsed, but before he had a chance to roll to the side, Izzy’s legs, in addition to his arms, came around him and held him in place. 

“You sure you’re still able to breathe?” Duff mumbled into his hair. 

“Who needs to breathe?” Izzy replied just as unclearly. 

Maybe wizards lived without oxygen. It would explain a lot. When his own breath returned, Duff did roll off of him and put his head onto his chest. 

“When will you allow me to use magic during sex?” Izzy played idly with his hair. “I could take you to a whole new level.”

“I’m still busy coming to terms with this level,” Duff replied. 

“For a whore you are awfully innocent,” Izzy said.

It was the beginning of October and over the last few weeks there hadn’t been much to do for them, Long, lonely walks on the moor by day and lots of love making after the sun set. Or before. It was fantastic, brilliant, exhilarating, and scary. Duff had never felt like this, had never been so close to anybody who wasn’t a relative. It was terrifying enough as it was, he didn’t need Izzy to add magic to the mix. He wanted to savour every step of the journey, not take it to the utmost level as fast as possible. But maybe Izzy, with all his outlandish and otherworldly knowledge, was bored. How did the Fae make love? They surely used lots of magic to turn it into an incredible experience. 

He pushed himself up and, a little worried looked down on his lover.

“Are you disappointed?” 

Izzy smiled softly. “No.” Then he sighed and his expression turned solemn. 

“Something wrong?”

“No, just … I’ve been dragging this out a bit. But we’re going back tomorrow, so …”

Duff’s worry increased. Was this good-bye? Thanks for the service, but let’s return to how it was before? 

Izzy rolled over between Duff’s arms and pulled something out of a bag next to the bed. He looked at it, then handed it over. It was a ring with a big, green stone. Duff eyed it confused. For a moment he wondered if this was an engagement ring, but dismissed the idea right away. 

What they were doing, two men joining each other in carnal activities, was depraved enough as it was. Pretending it could come close to the sanctity of matrimony would send him to an even deeper level of hell. Especially after he had used magical marbles, lied at a vicar, and burned down a church. He didn’t need any more sins on his tally, thank you very much. 

“What …,” he asked.

“Mrs Prendergast kind of … left it behind,” Izzy said. 

“She …,” 

Izzy didn’t seem to worry about further blackening his soul with sinful activities. Not if he had time to steal rings in between opening gates to other worlds and burning down churches. 

“It would pay for the ticket.”

“Which ticket?” Duff still stared at the ring. 

“To America. Where you wanted to go? Remember?” 

Duff closed his fingers around the piece of jewellery. 

“Don’t be stupid, Izzy,” he said. “I’m not going to America.” He handed it back. “Maybe you can redeem Axl’s earrings.”

“But you wanted to … Didn’t you want to work on a farm? With your brother? Go and see the New World?”

Duff wondered why Izzy always kindled this deep desire to smack him. 

“Yes,” he said. “I wanted to go and see a New World. But you know…” He bent forward and kissed him because that was the other desire Izzy kept kindling. “Looks like I found one.”

He laid down and pulled the blanket over both of them. 

“Turn off the light,” he said. “I need some sleep before we travel home to Foxhill.”


	26. Epilogue

Axl watched the shadows wander across the walls. The candle flickered and he concentrated on the flame, its different colours, and fickle twitches whenever a draft came in through the gap under the door. 

The black book lay in his lap, old and unassuming. A tattered pile of pages that held the power to shake up the universe. 

So many years he had spent searching for this spell, and here it was, dropped into his lap when he had expected it the least. 

He went through the instructions again. It wasn’t difficult. Nor was it particularly evil, at least not compared to some of the others he had found in the book. What little foreign magic it took to perform would be easy to come by. If he asked Izzy, he would probably volunteer that half thimble full he required. 

Izzy wasn’t one to stick to rules for the sake of the rules. He would understand the importance of this spell, that it was an exception, a one-time thing never to be repeated. 

He read it again, from the first word to the last. The spell that would allow him to control his gender. He could weld himself into his male form or keep it fluent and change at will. Both would be possible. 

It was unfair. Here it was, ready to be used. One step in the wrong direction. And not a big one. 

A step that might kick off an avalanche. 

Axl sighed. He read the spell again. Then he closed the book, tossed it into the fire, and watched it burn to ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are. The end. I hope you all had some fun at Foxhill.


End file.
